


Knights and their Queens

by smokingsea



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon dreams, Dragons, F/M, Forced Marriage, Innocent Sansa, King Tywin, Pre-Canon Divergence, Queen Sansa, Ser Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-03-07 22:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18882652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokingsea/pseuds/smokingsea
Summary: The Dornish had been furious at the end of the rebellion. What happened to their family had been horrible, but they had seen what all the maesters in Oldtown told them. Elia and her children, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon, had died after the Mad King forced them to drink wildfire. They had marched to the city intent on war. They had argued that the throne rightly belonged to Prince Viserys. Unfortunately the boy, his mother, and infant sister had died in an attempt to flee Dragonstone amidst the worst storm in a century.The people remembered Tywin's time as Hand of the King well, how the city had flourished. They had cheered for the Lannisters when he entered the city again, with an army to defend them. They cheered again when he brought the fighting to an end with letters of invitation to the warring parties whose leaders had all perished.Now, Tywin required an heir. An infertile daughter and a son sworn to celibacy were his legacy as it stood, and he had the greatest prize of all to give to an heir. He would have one, and one of the most ancient houses in Westeros.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own ASOIAF, and I'm making no money off this. I enjoy playing with it while I'm not working on original work.
> 
> If anyone has a better title in mind after reading this...I'd like to hear it. I'm not thrilled with the title, and I may change it (giving credit to the source of the better idea).

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.** **F~** **I** **~R~** **E** **~** **A** **~** **N** **~** **D** **~** **B** **~** **L** **~** **O** **~** **O** **~** **D** **.** **W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon cradled an egg the size of a small melon in his arms. He traced his fingers over the silvery white shell swirled with rich purple. He put his cheek against it, praying for the squeaks he had heard in the past.

 

His thoughts dwelt on the wolf pups that they found in the woods earlier that day. There were only five, one for each of the Stark children, including the babe Lady Catelyn would be giving to his father in a moon’s turn or a little less. He had been glad to save the tiny pups for his siblings. Arya and Sansa had both been so delighted when the small, fluffy creatures were put in their arms that they squealed over them. Bran had not released his the entire ride home. Even Robb had been unable to release the pup he picked out.

 

He slid down, holding the dragon egg in a nest created by his thighs. He found it years ago, deep beneath Winterfell. The North had always been cold, and he found the warmth of the springs pleasant.

 

He had heard the stories of Jacaerys, the prince who came to Winterfell during the Dance of the Dragons, many times. Maester Luwin had always doubted the story of the prince’s dragon laying eggs beneath the castle. He believed the source lacked credibility and was known for how he often used cheeky metaphors for history. Jon had always been so intrigued and full of hope that he might find one that he searched for them often as a little boy. He had never had any luck until that day, the day he heard his father tell the castle servants to never speak Lady Ashara Dayne’s name again, that Jon was his blood no matter his mother.

 

He had tried a hundred times to find the courage to ask his father about his mother. To hear that his father would not want anyone speaking her name had pained him worse the blows of the practice swords in the training yard with Ser Rodrik. When Lord Stark had turned and seen him, Jon knew tears had been pouring down his cheeks as he turned and fled deep into the castle. He hid among the rocks beneath his gray wool cloak when he heard his father calling his name. He had not been able to go out to him, and he huddled down till the voice disappeared with the light from his torch.

 

Once he had been alone, a faint noise like the screeches of birds he watched hunt over the Wolfswood so many times from the walls of Winterfell. He followed the noises and found the egg. The voice Jon had been so sure that he heard coming from it became silent once he tucked the egg to his chest and pressed his cheek over it. He sat with it alone in the dark for hours, praying and begging the gods for more noise. Eventually it was his stomach which compelled him to climb back up to the cold world outside the hot springs.

 

His father’s men surrounded him the moment he appeared and took him to his father in the great hall. The fires had all dyed to embers and the smell of smoke had tickled his nose. He remembered that his father had cried, tears streaming down his face as he ran to him. He had snatched him up and told him that he loved him, that he must never do that again. He frightened his father, the bravest man he ever knew. Jon had apologized, clutching his neck with one small arm and the dragon egg with the other. It had taken hours of holding Jon close to ease the tears, clutching him as long and tight as Jon had seen Sansa and Arya cuddled as tiny girls barely able to walk. He had known then just how much his father loved him, wanted to keep him safe, and he felt naughty for causing him such pain.

 

His father gave him the egg, saying it was his to keep. He had kept it safe throughout all the years since, sitting often in front of a fire in his room, holding the beautiful object close. Sometimes, he fancied that he heard noises from it, and often, the urge to put it in the flames would come over him. He had never given into it, fearing that it would crack, and then he would no longer have something precious. It was the first thing he ever had that Robb had wanted one of and could not have. There had only been one, and Lord Stark said it was Jon’s to do with as he wished. They said that egg was the most valuable object that had ever been seen in the North.

 

It had been years since he sat so long, holding his egg and thinking about what would happen if he put it in the flames. The night before he dreamed of a dragon looking down over the Kingsroad, soaring high as the clouds. Creatures, great and small, were travelling it, and a brilliant crescent moon hung over mountains. Birds, gray and plain as stone, attacked a wolf and pecked at it angrily with the intent of harming it. The dragon swept down at this. A jet of fire shot from the great dragon’s great, toothed mouth, and the birds fell away in piles of ash.

 

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

 

He thrust the dream away as he walked to the door with the egg cradled under his arm. Sansa stood there, holding her pup. He squeezed his arm around the dragon egg more tightly against his chest. The idea of a little dragon small enough to ride upon his shoulders as a hatchling that grew into a mount as fine as Balerion ever was for Aegon the Conqueror.

 

“Lady Sansa, is there something you need?”

 

“Bran says that your words stopped the pups from being killed.” She stepped forward and wrapped the arm not holding the pup around his neck. “Thank you, Jon. I love her already.”

 

“You’re welcome, Sansa." Jon stepped back, turning to the side to allow Sansa to enter the room. "Do you want to come in?”

 

He tried to smile at her as his fingers traced the scaling on the egg after she came into his room. He would give up most anything for his brothers and sisters. He tried to always be glad when they were, even if he was so rarely part of the joy. Typically, he was pushed to the side like a creature that could never truly belong in the north.

 

“Are you okay, Jon?”

 

“I’m not a Stark, Sansa.”

 

He had heard the words said to him enough and repeated them in his head. He said what he had to so Bran would not have to see the little pups killed.

 

Sansa raised her pup close and kissed between its tiny ears, reaching out to take his hand and place it on the wolf.

 

“Mother says I’m a Tully as much as a Stark, that I may always rest assured that Uncle Edmure will help me if ever I need him. Does that not make you as much a Stark as me?”

 

Jon moved over to the fire, placing his egg on the hearth in the nest he fashioned for it. He bit back his response that her mother would not agree about his Starkness and that she would be furious to hear it coming from one of her children, especially the one who had so often taken her mother’s side. He was bastard born. That changed all the rules. It did not matter that it was unfair, only that it was.

 

“Robb and Father will protect you always, Jon. They love you.”

 

“What about you?”

 

He meant the question cheekily, but she answered as sweetly as she did everything. It was just who Sansa was, and Jon feared that sweetness being taken from her when she married. Still, Lord Stark would choose well for her. He loved his children above all.

 

“Of course, I love you. But I’m to wed a high lord in the south, securing an alliance of the highest kind. I’m no Targaryen queen to ride a dragon and wield Valyrian steel. You’re the one who wields the sword of the Warrior, Jon. Everyone says so.”

 

Jon hid his smile at her words. He had heard that many a time. He thought about the wolf in his dream again, how it cowered, looking so docile and gentle, as the birds pecked. The image of the great dragon twisting around it protectively, shielding it from danger, filled his heart. The fire that came from its mouth that engulfed the wolf’s enemies made Jon feel powerful.

 

“Will you walk with me to supper?”

 

Jon nodded, looking back at where the egg rested. He offered Sansa his arm, and as they left, he resolved to try. It was the song from a dream, and no dragons had lived in well over a century. They were dead and gone, probably for good, but if there was anything that could give life to a dragon, it would be fire.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

Tywin rose from the Iron Throne after concluding court for the day. The gold and ruby crown on his head was a little heavy, and the price he paid for it had been too high.

 

Jaime’s face appeared in his mind every day and every night. The loss of his precious heir was something Tywin had felt every day since Lord Commander Gerold Hightower put the snowy woolen cloak about his fifteen year old boy’s shoulders while half the kingdom watched him swear to serve the king, protect the king, and all the rest. He had seen what Jaime and Cersei could not, that Jaime was the Mad King’s hostage. He looked at him every day now, and his son could never have what he would give to him.

 

He had dedicated so much money and effort to finding a way to save Jaime. He had refused to help Robert Baratheon in his stupid rebellion. It had been too much of a gamble to side with a Baratheon. Jaime would have been dead the minute the king was told that Tywin was fighting against the lunatic.

 

It had not been enough. His son had made his choice. Now, he could never have what Tywin could have given him. All he wanted for his son was a peaceful life, to not have to fight for everything meant to be his as the heir to the most powerful house in Westeros. He had given that to his children, paid the price, and he would pay it again.

 

The Dornish had been furious at the end of the rebellion. What happened to their family had been horrible, but they had seen what all the maesters in Oldtown told them. Elia and her children, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon, had died after the Mad King forced them to drink wildfire. They had marched to the city intent on war. They had argued that the throne rightly belonged to Prince Viserys. Unfortunately the boy, his mother, and infant sister had died in an attempt to flee Dragonstone amidst the worst storm in a century.

 

Tywin’s army, fresh from the Westerlands, and the people of the city had disagreed. They declared that they wanted Tywin Lannister and only Tywin Lannister. He was the only man who brought an army to protect them. He brought food from foreign lands to feed them, and they all remembered how well the kingdom had been during his time as Hand. The Dornish had known the battle was damn near futile at that point. Their own small folk had provided the greatest resistance of all to the dragons. The small folk were a powerful force, outnumbering their rulers a hundred to one. The Martells could calculate their odds, and they knew they would fail.

 

To secure peace with the Martells, he had given his daughter Cersei to Prince Oberyn, the Red Viper of Dorne, and they had been married almost twenty years. His daughter had yet to carry a child to term. At least seven known pregnancies had ended in miscarriage or stillbirth. His legacy was dying all around him. A son whom the people would never accept, an infertile daughter, and a dwarf that had run off to Essos. Not that he had been sorry to say goodbye to the little monster.

 

“Kevan, come.” His brother and Hand stood up and followed him at the brisk pace he set between two kingsguards, his Lord Commander, Barristan Selmy and Ser Arys Oakheart.

 

They quickly made their way to the king’s chambers. Ser Barristan joined them within as Tywin set the gold and ruby crown aside and eased down at his desk. He looked up between the two of them. They had raised the issue several times over the past several years, and he had told them that the time was not right. It had not been. Now, there was a girl with the right breeding and bloodline to wear the crown he was having fashioned for his queen.

 

“I require a wife—a queen.”

 

It was not something he wanted, but he was in need. He would not watch the Lannisters lose everything he had worked to attain for them because of a little unpleasantness. There was an eligible woman more than capable of doing what he needed. This was an opportunity, not to love another woman or be happy as he had been with Joanna, but to ensure his legacy.

 

He looked up at the painting he had commissioned of her holding their babes that he had kept in his solar ever since its completion and felt his heart race with pain. It should have been Joanna, but he failed her. It would have to be another. There was now a high born lady from the noblest families who would bring five kingdoms solidly together. She would come here and do her duty. The correct lords and ladies from the other houses being matched up would secure them in lasting peace.

 

Ser Barristan and Kevan nodded together. They must have been expecting this for some time. It was something far overdue with the number of miscarriages his daughter had had. Still he was sure no woman would ever match his Joanna. He did not have to want a queen, or love her, but he could find one to put in his bed long enough to ensure his legacy. He would establish a dynasty that would last a thousand years, not disappear into nothingness as the Targaryens had.

 

“Did you have a woman in mind, Your Grace?”

 

The old knight was as loyal as a man could be. He always had been, and his presence on Tywin’s Kingsguard was something that brought more esteem and honor to him as king—even love from the people. Ser Barristan the Bold’s deeds had not been forgotten, and he had loyally served Tywin ever since the crown had been placed on his head. He had always been a loyal man, a true knight in his heart, even for the worst king the world had known.

 

Tywin was loathe to part from him, even temporarily, but it was imperative that the she be delivered safely to him, and she had a long journey from her home to here, longer than any other high lords.

 

Lord Stark had sworn to send his children when the time came, though he may not have expected it to come so soon. He had no doubt that the Warden of the North would do as he had agreed when they came to peace, but it never hurt to show respect to high lords. Sending one of the most famous and chivalrous knights in the world to escort the special young lady would strengthen the tenuous trust between the North and South. It would show the high value he placed on the sons and daughters of the North.

 

“I do. It’s better to avoid slighting any family. It ought not be announced immediately.” His brother’s eyes met his steadily. “All should proceed as planned at the end of Robert’s Rebellion, even if one young lady has been chosen. We might hold a tourney and draw even more here. It would make it less of an expenditure to the crown. When the butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers all earn money, the crown takes its portion. It would finance itself and make more for the kingdom along with giving the occasion the pomp and circumstance a royal wedding ought to have.”

 

Tywin nodded. The king was being married. It was an event that required a certain level of style that only gold could buy. A tourney would be a fine thing for all. It gave the noble a chance for glory and the peasants a chance to earn coin and have a distraction from their daily troubles. Several noble houses could be brought in this manner more securely into the fold. Not to mention the two openings on his kingsguard. This would be the perfect opportunity to find the best qualified individuals for the job.

 

Lord Varys’s birds sang of several men of reputation from Winterfell to Highgarden. Ser Loras Tyrell, the third of Mace Tyrell’s sons, was said to be of fine repute and excellent ability. There was also a rumor of a northern boy in Winterfell’s ranks that was said to be the finest swordsman to ever walk the castle’s halls. He would see them and decide for himself which men were best suited to serve the Lannisters. The Tyrells would be thrilled to have a member of the kingsguard from their family.

 

“Send out the invitations for the heirs and first born daughters of age. The tourney will be held to celebrate the king’s wedding in several months time, and we will announce the woman to be queen after I meet all appropriate candidates. Ser Barristan, see that Grand Maester Pycell knows to send the ravens out in the morning. Then return. I have a task that can only be entrusted to you.”

 

Once the man departed with a bow, Kevan looked at his brother.

 

“Who’s the young woman you have in mind to be queen?”

 

“There’s only one choice.”

 

Tywin did not elaborate on the name of the young woman he had selected. Speaking it aloud would only give the news a chance to escape. Moreover his brother was intelligent enough to extrapolate the answer. This was a political match. As long as he did not find the girl completely repellent upon her arrival, he would make her queen. Lady Sansa Stark was reputed to be beautiful and kind. She would do her duty, and he would do his. They would have sons to inherit the kingdom.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa smiled as she walked beside Jon back from supper that night. Her wolf, Lady, rode in her arms with her paws curled sweetly around Sansa’s forearm. Jon had taken to escorting her many places around the castle after the pups arrived, not that she could say why. It was nice, and it made her feel more a lady proper to have a guard. Besides, he was the finest sword in the North, everyone said so. Why should he not be her champion? Who better than her brother? After all, Queen Naerys had always had a dear brother to defend her from her enemies and love her. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight had defended her against all.

 

“The pups are growing up, Sansa. Soon you won’t be carrying her. You’ll have to let her run with Gray Wind and Nymeria.”

 

“Lady could never be like them. She’s far more obedient.”

 

The wolf gave a small peeping woof of agreement with her mistress. Sansa stooped then, placing the pup down. The top of her head came up to Sansa’s mid-thigh now, and she walked calmly and serenely at her mistress’s side. Sansa stroked her ruff as they walked.

 

“Jon?” Sansa heard the question in her voice as she stopped and looked around quietly to see that they were alone. They were closer to his rooms than to hers, and she wanted a little privacy. “May we speak somewhere alone?”

 

“Okay.” Jon led her to his rooms, and they went in quietly.

 

She had been thinking more and more about the agreement that had been made between the high lords of Westeros at the end of Robert’s Rebellion, the one where they promised that when the king called, all would send their first born daughters and sons of proper age, her age, to the capital. They were to go before the king, and from them, he would choose his queen.

 

She looked at her half-brother, thinking on how much closer they had become since the night she thanked him for her wolf pup. She still wanted to take her mother’s side, but it was difficult to find it in her heart to treat him differently than her other brothers. He was good to her, always speaking gently and courteously. Robb sometimes became a bit harsh, and Arya could be just plain awful. She was certain that Jon would be a knight in time.

 

“I heard Father talking to Mother about the agreement he made with the king that ended the war. He feels certain that it will happen soon, the king calling all the young lords and ladies to the capital.”

 

Jon patted the bed beside him, and Sansa went over and sat beside him. She hoped that she could absorb a little bit of his calm. He took her hand, and she squeezed it as she had when they were children playing in the godswood. He had played the knight with a long stick for a sword. She was the lady in need of rescuing, and Arya had happily played the beast chasing the lady. Her younger sister revelled in every chance to get Sansa to fall and dirty her dresses. Jon had kept her safe, and she had kissed his cheek in thanks for the rescue. That was the last day that she remembered playing thus with her siblings.

 

“The king seems like he must be a good man. He went to King’s Landing to defend it during the Rebellion. I don’t think he’ll do anything to start a war now. They say he’s a man who ends wars.”

 

Sansa nodded. She knew the stories, but they sometimes made King Tywin sound more lion than man. Her father had sounded like he was worried for her.

 

“Father sounded like he was worried for me. If there was something I could do to help him feel more comfortable, I would do it. I’m excited to go to the capital, but I don’t want to worry Father. And I’ve never been away from my parents.”

 

Sansa cut off, not sure how to ask such a personal question. Surely, not having a mother was something that hurt Jon. Still, he was one of the only people she knew without a parent. He probably thought she was silly or selfish to say such. She had always known that she would marry and leave her home.

 

“You know that Father will only let you go to a good man, someone kind and gentle and strong.”

 

Sansa squeezed Jon’s hand. The agreement said that the king and his councilors would choose a queen. That was as likely to be her as not. There were many beautiful young ladies, and the king might choose any one of them for his wife. Perhaps, he already knew the one he wanted.

 

An angry bird like noise startled Sansa so badly that she nearly ended up in Jon’s arms. She turned toward the fire crackling in the grate. Nestled between the logs, she could see the white dragon egg that Jon had kept as long as she could remember.

 

“Don’t be frightened, Sansa.”

 

No dragon had been in the world for more than a hundred years. The last one died during the time of Aegon III, and they said that its head had been the size of an apple, sick and withered. She had a clutch, but none of her eggs had hatched. She looked at her brother as he removed the egg from the fire, placing it in a blanket before lifting it and inspecting it by turning it different directions.

 

“Why was it making that noise?” Sansa approached him cautiously.

 

“I don’t know.” Jon was cradling the egg against his chest again, the same way he had the day that the wolf pups were brought to the castle. “It just does sometimes.”

 

Sansa worried at her lower lip, wondering what would happen if it did hatch. Would it be small and sickly, or would it grow into a dragon like none the world had seen since the time of Aegon the Conqueror? It was Jon’s egg, and he looked at it the same way that she and her siblings looked at their wolves.

 

“What would you do if it hatched?”

 

Jon looked up at her, and she could see the desire in his eyes. Jon had always seemed to want so little, perhaps because he was bastard born. Still, it was easy to see that Jon would love to ride a dragon and soar through the sky.

 

Sansa stared at him as he held the egg, remembering the beautiful picture in one of Maester Luwin’s books borrowed from the Citadel of a man riding high upon a dragon. She had never seen a man who looked half so noble and powerful as the one in the image of the dragonlord holding his dragon steel blade.

 

“He would help me keep my family safe.”

 

There were supposed to be dragonlords in their family. Lord Cregan Stark had been promised a Targaryen princess for his wife. Maybe Jon would be the first. It was a nice thought, wanting something good for her brother.

 

“I’ll do whatever I can to protect you, Sansa. You’re my sister.”

 

Sansa looked up at him, placing a hand upon the now cooled egg.

 

“Do you swear it?”

 

“I do.”


	2. Vows and Skirmishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon had spent the afternoon holding her and comforting her as the harm that had been done was assessed so news could be sent to the king so that he could begin the business of determining how to met out justice.

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.** **F~** **I** **~R~** **E** **~** **A** **~** **N** **~** **D** **~** **B** **~** **L** **~** **O** **~** **O** **~** **D** **.** **W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon looked up at his father when his opponent dropped his sword following a particularly harsh blow to the wrist that Jon struck. Lord Stark looked much the same as he always did when Jon bested a man. His face was naturally somber and serious, quite like Jon’s, and his gray eyes watched everything happening in the training yard with few overt expressions of pride.

 

Still Lord Stark nodded to him as his next opponent stepped up. The ringing sound of blunted steel, heavy breathing, and grunts soon became all Jon noticed as he parried and swung and thrust. It may have been minutes or hours later that he disarmed his tenth man. He looked up again at his father, wondering if the man would allow him to finally go and take the black. There was nothing for him in Winterfell, and constantly being treated like Lady Catelyn’s curse was no way to live. At least the Wall offered him a chance at honor. All that there was here for him was poison. Bastards inherit nothing, and the gnawing pain of it hurt.

 

“Jon.”

 

He turned as his father called his name and saw him standing there with Robb. His brother had been shadowing their father more as of late. He needed to learn how to rule, and their father intended to show him.

 

“There’s been a raven, Jon. I need to speak with you.”

 

The worry in his father’s voice was readily apparent. It alerted Jon. He had rarely heard his father worried. The few times he had noticed distress in the man had been the times recalling his memories of their aunt Lyanna and his fear when he learned of her kidnap, when his father, Lord Rickard, rode south, when their uncle Brandon had been taken prisoner. All those memories had ended with the death of a family member.

 

The gravity of his demeanor and tone were all it took to have Jon nodding. He followed his father and brother to Lord Stark’s solar, passing numerous faces in the halls and ignoring them all as they proceeded in complete silence. Jon was accustomed to silence.

 

“Robb, please fetch Sansa. I need to speak to her, too.”

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

Jon looked to his brother, so close to him in age, wondering what this was all about and finding no answers. Robb just offered a grim smile before departing and shutting the door behind him. What concerned Sansa that she would need to be here, unless it finally had come? Were the two oldest Stark children to go to King’s Landing to meet the king and meet their matches?

 

“The king has declared that every eligible young woman of high birth be brought to King’s Landing for him to select a new wife for himself. All the first born male heirs are being brought as well to determine whom they’ll wed. It was part of the peace agreement at the end of Robert’s Rebellion. We have some say, but the final word is King Tywin’s.”

 

Jon nodded seriously at this statement unsure why his father was telling him, why Robb had been sent to fetch Sansa. She had been a little nervous about this, and she had often confided that to him. Still, she had always known her duty and was certain of what it would entail. He promised her nearly a year ago that he would protect her because she was his sister. She had teasingly called him her Dragonknight afterward, in honor of Prince Aemon and his sister Naerys. The story of him defending her honor, naming her Queen of Love and Beauty, had always been one of Sansa’s favorites.

 

Perhaps, she had not been told that the time had come. All the history that lead to the peace agreement filled Jon’s mind. His grandfather and uncle had both died in King’s Landing when the Mad King had ruled. His aunt had been kidnapped by Prince Rhaegar, and her betrothed Robert Baratheon, for whom his brother Robb had been named, went to war with the crown to get her back. He had died during his fight with the crown prince at the Ruby Ford. Their deaths and the subsequent killing of Rhaegar’s wife and children by King Aerys II, the king’s death at the hands of Ser Jaime Lannister, Lyanna’s death at the Tower of Joy, the deaths of the three kingsguards who had been there to protect her. Tywin Lannister taking his army at the end of the rebellion to King’s Landing to protect the city. It all paved the way for Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock, to become king.

 

Stannis Baratheon had starved to death in Storm’s End. When Lord Stark rode into the capital to announce the victory of the rebellion and demand the return of his sister, he had found the Lannister Army peacefully taking care of the people and ready to defend it with thrice the number of soldiers that he had. The people had been relieved to have Tywin Lannister back to rule. They did not cheer his father when he rode through the streets. they cheered for Tywin Lannister as he greeted the northmen and asked for an end to the war. The war was over. There had been little else to say. His father found Lyanna dying in Dorne, and he brought her body home to the crypts and Jon. They had now lived peacefully under Tywin Lannister’s rule for almost seventeen years.

 

“What I’m asking of you, I don’t ask lightly. You’re my blood, no matter what name you have.” Lord Stark paused, considering his next words as he looked into Jon’s eyes. “You and your sister have become close.”

 

Jon raised his chin. He knew the response that his father expected.

 

“Winter is coming, Lord Stark. When the north winds blow and the snows pile a hundred feet deep, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

 

“Your sister trusts people far more easily that she should. She could put herself in danger quite unintentionally in King’s Landing. She could end up tragically. Only heirs and daughters who are of an appropriate age for marrying are invited. Sending her unprotected will end in tragedy. You’re the finest sword in Winterfell. With more training and time, you’ll only get better.”

Jon could practically see the words his father was having so much difficulty speaking, and he was almost in shock. He had anticipated going north, but his father was asking him to go south. His father was trusting him to protect Sansa, asking him to do what he could not.

 

“You don’t have to answer immediately. Take your time and consider what you’re being asked to do and what it means.”

 

There was no question in his mind. Sansa lived in her songs. She was not as silly now at sixteen as she had been when she was younger, but she still saw the romance before the hardships. Jon remembered the horrors that had come to his family, and to the others that his father told him of. They all made mistakes, and they all died.

 

Sansa was a girl connected to three of the greatest houses in Westeros. She longed for true love, marriage, and babies. He was certain that she would in no way be disappointed by the opportunity to become queen. She would believe that the king would love her as Aegon V had loved his queen Betha Blackwood. She did not always hear the heartache and the loss. He would not abandon his sweetest and gentlest sibling to lions.

 

He thought of his dragon egg, the dreams he had of the dragon protecting the wolf.

 

“I’ll go, Father. I’ll protect Sansa from all who would harm her.”

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa smiled brightly as she walked beside Robb through the halls of Winterfell. She had just celebrated her sixteenth nameday one moon ago, and she was certain that her father must be summoning her for one purpose. The king had sent for them. Surely, she was being called so that she could be given a sworn guard. The possibilities were all so exciting. She flushed and forced herself to remain calm and demure as a proper lady should. She walked a little more quickly. It would not do to keep her father waiting.

 

The door of his solar was open when they arrived, and she hid her surprise behind a pleasant smile when she saw Jon was sitting there already. Why would Jon be part of this discussion? She knew that he was the best sword in the North. Her father would want her to have the best protection that he could give, and Jon was the best. She still blushed a bit when she remembered the promise he made to her ages ago, that he would protect her. He had been escorting her ever since, always treating her like a queen.

 

“Shut the door, Sansa.”

 

She bobbed a curtsy to her father after shutting the door and went to his open arms for the embrace.

 

“Father.” She curled into his arms.

 

“Please sit, Love. There’s much I have to tell you.”

 

Sansa nodded, taking the only chair left in front of her father’s desk. She looked to Jon, wondering what this was about, and he flicked his gaze to her father as encouragingly as he could. It was unusual for them to leave a space for her between them.

 

“The king sent a raven.”

 

She sat up a little straighter at the news as her father continued. The king was finally looking for a queen, and he had commanded the oldest daughters of marriageable age to come to the capital. The oldest sons and heirs were also to come. He intended to choose a queen and find suitable spouses for the others. It was well known that the king had no son or grandson to inherit his throne. Most believed that he had been delaying, looking for a way to release Ser Jaime from his vows to give him the kingdom. The people loved him for coming to their defense when Lord Robert Baratheon rebelled against the dragon kings to reclaim the girl who had been promised to him. He had come up with a way for them to stop fighting, and the lords of Westeros had accepted him as their new king.

 

“Your brothers will both accompany you. It was part of our agreement made long ago. Robb will be going to meet an eligible young lady to be lady of Winterfell in time.” Sansa glanced to her brother with a bright smile. He gave her a slight one in return. “Jon has agreed to go with you, Sansa. He has agreed to be your sworn shield.”

 

Sansa turned immediately to her half brother, shock making her mouth hang open in a most unladylike way. She and Jon had become closer, and he was unquestionably the best sword and lance in Winterfell. She had heard from Robb and him speak often of how he wished to take the black and become an honorable man of the Night’s Watch. She had always privately believed it would be a waste of his talents. He should have been sent to squire in the south so he could be knighted. If he was as good as everyone said, he ought to be dressed in white instead of black. Distracted by these thoughts, Sansa almost missed what her father said to her next.

 

“Sansa, you need to trust Jon. He’s going to protect you.” Her father looked to the three of them in turn.

 

“We will make you proud, Father.”

 

Sansa smiled brightly as Robb spoke. She was certain that all would be well. With so many girls soon to converge on Winterfell to travel together to the south, it would be enjoyable.

 

“Ser Barristan Selmy is traveling north especially to escort you to the capital.”

 

Sansa could hardly contain her excitement at this announcement. They were to be escorted by one of the finest knights in Westeros, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. It was an enormous honor.

 

She flushed at the thought as well as her father saying there would be a tourney. She had never seen a tourney, and she had always wanted to. So many knights would appear and ride in shining armor on great horses, jousting and the melee and archery. Brightly colored tents and banners. A great feast. The king would be there too. They would stay in the Red Keep. She would surely find a handsome lord who would love her.

 

The king was an older man. Still it was of very little matter or import. Her aunt Lysa had married an older man, and she now had a son who was a little older than Bran. Her cousin, Sweet Robin, heir to the Vale of Arryn.

 

“Sansa.”

 

She jerked at the sound of her name in the exasperated tone of voice. She was not being very ladylike or polite. A lady listened attentively to her father.

 

“You’ll be leaving in a sennight or less. Ser Barristan arrived in White Harbor recently according to my lastest raven from Lord Manderly, and he’s on his way here.”

 

Sansa nodded.

 

“I’ll be ready, Father.”

 

“I’ll swear to serve Sansa tonight at dinner.”

 

 **W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.** **F~ **I** **~R~** **E** **~** **A** **~** **N** **~** **D** **~** **B** **~** **L** **~** **O** **~** **O** **~** **D** **.** ** **W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon joined Sansa on the thirteenth day of travel as most of the men were getting the wagons packed and ready. They had been sharing meals every morning, and Sansa had been enjoying herself enormously by hosting different ladies of the northern houses.

 

Sansa’s wolf sat at her feet, prim and proper as her mistress. She ate small bites daintily from Sansa’s hand and allowed her mouth to very gently be wiped at the end without a fuss.

 

She had placed his dragon egg close, insisting that the beautiful egg not be packed away where it might accidentally be broken. She had tucked it under fabric in her sewing basket, and she had taken to holding it at times when the road became rather bumpy. Her wolf even curled around it at times and licked it as she might a pup.

 

Jon could not help smiling at them. Sansa had been an exceptionally talented teacher for her pet. Lady was the gentlest and smallest of all the wolves, and she was ever present at her mistress’s side. Robb’s wolf stayed well back from the main group, appearing only at the end of the day.

 

“Good girl, Lady.”

 

Jon watched the wolf place her paw on Sansa’s arm and settle in for the ride. He had come to have breakfast with his sister this morning to speak with her privately as they were able to while traveling in such a large company. His father had entrusted Sansa to him, and he would do everything in his power to keep his promise of protecting her.

 

Her cheeks had burned red as her hair when he knelt at her feet in the great hall and placed his sword there, swearing to serve her faithfully and give his life for hers if need be. It was the first time Lady Catelyn had ever smiled at him or seemed to approve of his presence. Then Sansa had promised that he would always have meat and mead at her table. That had almost taken her smile away, realizing that Jon would always be around her family, but knowing that he would protect her daughter was all pleasure. Lady Catelyn Stark knew her husband’s bastard was a fighter, and a fighter was the type of man she wanted at her daughter’s side.

 

“Sansa.” He waited for her blue eyes to find his. “We’re getting closer to King’s Landing every day.”

 

She nodded, smiling as she gently stroked Lady’s ears.

 

“Will you compete in the tourney?”

 

“I’m not a knight. But if the field is open, I might.”

 

His father had always warned against competing in tourneys. They were dangerous, and it was better for a man to know less what you could do if war came. There were men with sharp eyes, able to find a man’s weakness at a glance. It would not matter in the least if he was not a knight.

 

She sat up a little taller, probably planning for him to wear her favor since he was sworn to her service. He would do so to please her. He would also name her queen of love and beauty. He had promised to do so ever since they were children playing at such games. She was the only party that wanted the honor. Arya preferred to play the part of a knight.

 

“I’m sure you would do well. Bring honor to House Stark.”

 

Jon smiled at her thinly. He should have found a way to tell her this some time back. In truth, Father and he should have told her together. Still, they thought it might be better. Few outside Winterfell knew his face for being his father’s son. Lady Stark had never allowed him to sit with the family when another lord visited. Few people cared to know his face, so he was easily ignored. Sometimes he had skipped feasts altogether, opting to practice in the training yard instead.

 

“Sansa, we need to talk. Father thought it might be best if we didn’t share that we’re brother and sister. Brothers, even bastard brothers, don’t normally swear themselves to serve their sisters. Robb knows father’s wishes. We should obey Father in this. He wouldn’t tell us something wrong on purpose.”

 

She tilted her head in confusion, but assented gently to his words, saying that they should obey their father. Jon cocked his head at her. It was difficult to gauge her response. There was still so much more to consider. Bastards were not considered trustworthy, not that Sansa ever cared to hear such things.

 

“It’s all to keep you safe. A king killed our father and uncle. Father wants me to keep you safe as much as he wants you to be happy.”

 

“I don’t understand, Jon, and we’ll obey Father.” She reached for the folded bundle of fabric wrapped around the dragon egg and put it in her lap.

 

Jon reached over and squeezed her hand reassuringly. There was little else to say in particular. Knowing what to expect from a man they had never met, the most powerful man in the seven kingdoms looking for a wife, was impossible. Still he would learn the Red Keep, learn all the ways into and out of the castle, in case he should ever need to know.

 

“Thank you, Sansa, and thank you for sharing breakfast with me.”

 

Sansa would make an extremely agreeable match. There was hardly a tidier way of drawing in three great houses that had rebelled against the former king than by marrying a woman with connections by blood to all three. The facts that any man with eyes would note were her beauty and kindness. Those were just there to sweeten the deal. The more Jon thought about it, and the more he considered it, the more certain he felt that the king would choose Sansa, and it was a daunting proposition. He would remain with her, be her loyal guard, no matter the odds of failure or death.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa enjoyed the landscape as they traveled south. Just now, the place where they had stopped for midday meal was especially beautiful. The Mountains of the Moon rose tall in the east at the far end of a massive field of wild flowers. In her younger days, Sansa would have gone to make a crown of flowers.

 

Now, she was traveling to the capital of Westeros to meet the king who was going to give one lucky girl a real crown. The thought was as daunting as it was exciting. She could become queen. Her son could become king in turn if she impressed the king.

 

Sansa became so lost in her thoughts as she worked on sewing a cloak suitable for Jon to wear as her sworn shield that she did not realize anything was wrong until Ser Barristan appeared armored and atop his horse beside her.

 

“Protect Lady Sansa!”

 

The shout startled Sansa as much as his appearance on a brilliant golden horse with a war lance in hand. She wrapped the cloak she was sewing around Jon’s dragon egg and tucked it close to her chest. Jon had trusted her with his greatest treasure. Fear filled her gut as more men shouted for weapons, and the women began running.

 

“Jon!” She cried out as a man with a great ugly scar across his face appeared. “Lady!”

 

He swung his ax wildly at Ser Barristan, taking a lance in the shoulder. He snapped it off and swung at the old knight again. Ser Barristan drew his sword, thrusting it through the unarmored neck of the other man. Another man approached the knight from behind.

 

“Stay close, my Lady.”

 

Lady darted forward with a flash of ferocity at the anger Sansa felt at seeing someone trying to harm him. Ser Barristan’s horse bellowed and reared, its feet flying out in front to connect with another man. The wolf’s teeth tore through cloth and into flesh. She turned away at his scream and the blood, curling around the dragon egg and screaming again.

 

“Jon!”

 

The horse gave an unearthly scream as an ax hacked through one of its legs. Ser Barristan leaped free at the last minute. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Ser Barristan back on his feet, sword swinging at the men who were attacking them.

 

Lady tugged her arm to help ease her down and crawl beneath a wagon. She released her sleeve, stepping protectively over her as she rested on her belly, arms curled around the egg. She caressed Lady to assure herself that her pet was there, and that she was safe.

 

She lost track of how long the shouting men, clanging swords, screaming horses, and crying ladies continued. She prayed to the seven and to her father’s gods for the dreadful battle to soon be over as she stroked Lady’s ruff gently.

 

Suddenly, a hand was grabbing her hair and yanking her. She screamed for her brother.

 

 **W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.** **F~ **I** **~R~** **E** **~** **A** **~** **N** **~** **D** **~** **B** **~** **L** **~** **O** **~** **O** **~** **D** **.** ** **W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.  
**

 

Jon swung onto the great black bay charger his father had given him after swearing to serve and protect his sister. He had been battling his way toward his sister’s wheelhouse, but he soon lost track of anything but swinging the sword and fighting.

 

The first man he killed died on the end of his blade, run through after sneaking up behind Robb like a snake. The second had been holding a handful of Alys Karstark’s hair and lost his arm for the offense before losing his head to a fierce swing. The third, fourth, and fifth had been attempting to steal supplies from different wagons, and by then Jon had been mounted on his horse and made quick work of them.

 

That was when he saw Ser Barristan fighting two men simultaneously with another three sneaking up behind him. He turned his horse, feeling his anger burn within him like a inferno. The feeling of power and strength he had felt when he dreamed of dragons flying and breathing fire came over him, and he charged the men. His sword lopped one head off, and as he wheeled the horse around, he saw spears in the back of a wagon.

 

He sheathed the sword and took one in hand. Squeezing with his legs, the horse bolted to a thundering gallop, and Jon rode down two of the men piercing one through. He dropped it when he felt the shaft break and continued his charge past them, wheeling about and taking his sword. As he charged back toward the men surrounding Ser Barristan, one threw down the rusty ax he was holding and ran. The last man aimed a blow at his horse from a club. The horse reared back, trumpeting furiously and slammed a hoof into his attacker’s head.

 

Only for the briefest moment, Jon considered riding down the runner for his cowardice. Then he thought of his sister. He had to find her to see for himself that she was well.

 

“Jon!”

 

Jon’s heart almost stopped as he saw an ugly man clutching a handful of Sansa’s hair and dragging her out from under the wheelhouse. The man had no weapon in hand, and he also clearly did not care that Sansa was crying.

 

All he felt was heat and anger at seeing his sister hurt. The man released his hold, shoving her away with a startled cry as he turned and saw the horse bearing down on him. Jon’s sword caught him in the side of his head, taking off the top part. Blood and brain matter scattered as he eased the horse from his charge.

 

“SANSA!”

 

He would never be able to forgive himself if she had been injured. He had sworn to protect her, but he had not been with her when he had most been needed. That man had been dragging her by her hair. He cursed himself.

 

“Jon?”

 

The relief at hearing her voice was better than the warmest fire on the coldest day of winter. It almost sent him to his knees as he swung down from his horse.

 

“Sansa, where are you?”

 

She poked her head out from under the wheelhouse, crawling out on her knees. She had some grass stains on her dress, and her hair was ruffled. Other than that and the tears in her eyes, she appeared completely fine as she leaped into his arms.

 

“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”

 

Jon shushed her quietly, shuddering a bit himself as he held her. They had not hurt her. They failed. He saved her. When he felt the egg in her arms, he remembered his dream of a dragon defending a wolf.

 

“I’m not leaving. It’s alright. You’re safe. It’s over now.” He clutched her with one arm, dipping his cheek down to press to hers. “It’s alright.”

 

She sucked in several deep breaths, digging her fingers into his shoulder. The sword in his hand felt solid, and he held it tightly. It had saved Sansa. Finally, she calmed enough to get a question out.

 

“Where’s Robb?”

 

“Right here.” Robb stepped up close and touched the back of her head. “I’m perfectly fine. Are you hurt, Sansa?”

 

She withdrew from Jon just enough to have both brothers close while she shook for a moment.

 

“Thank the gods.” She pulled back then, and called for her wolf. “Lady, come out.”

 

Her voice was soft as she called her wolf, but the wolf did not come.

 

A sinking feeling filled Jon’s gut when Sansa called again, and again no wolf appeared. Gray Wind crept out from under the wheelhouse a second later. He flung his head back with a mournful howl, but it was Sansa’s tearful sob and the wet tears on his neck that would fill his mind for the remainder of the journey to King’s Landing.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Lady was gone. Jon had spent the afternoon holding her and comforting her as the harm that had been done was assessed so news could be sent to the king so that he could begin the business of determining how to met out justice. They made camp there for the night, and Robb had set about building a pyre.

 

She stepped away from Jon’s arms up to the pyre that Robb had made for her dear pet. The cloak she had been sewing for Jon was ruined. Lady’s blood and her tears had destroyed the fabric. She spread it over the wood, and Jon carried the wolf up there, placing her on it.

 

Lady’s cheek was cold and stiff beneath her lips. She told her pet that she loved her as tears dripped onto the soft gray fur. With a final sniff and a pat on her ears, Sansa turned to Jon.

 

“Jon?” She questioned as he placed his beautiful dragon egg in Lady’s curled up legs.

 

This fire would burn hotter and longer than the ones at Winterfell in which he had placed the egg. It would likely be destroyed. He loved that egg.

 

“Lady should have a dragon to protect her.”

 

She shifted under Jon’s arm, wrapping an arm around her brother and refusing to think on it too long as they each took up a torch and lit the pyre. After retreating to a safe distance, Sansa wrapped her arms around Jon again and sobbed as the fire burned and a screech rose to fill the air.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

Tywin stared at the number of banners coming toward the city from the walls. The golden rose on green of the Tyrells was at the front of the column. The burning white tower of House Hightower. The lightning bolts of Leygood. The green and red apple Fossoways. The fox of Florent. The huntsman of Tarly. The grapes of the Redwynes. The golden tree of Rowan. There were a dozen others, but Tywin turned and walked away before identifying them all.

 

The children of the Stormlands and Crownlands had been the first to arrive. Then the Riverlands arrived just ahead of the Westerlands. Houses of the Vale arrived by boat similarly. Royce, Corbray, Hardyng, Waynwood, Redfort, Belmore. Half of Dorne had sailed into port that afternoon, and the rest had traveled over land. Now, he waited only for the North.

 

His daughter was undoubtedly in the harbor with her husband Prince Oberyn, and he would likely have one of his many lovers with him. The man was reputed to have a number of bastard daughters that he claimed.

 

He motioned to Vylar, his captain of the guard, and Ser Addam Marbrand of his Kingsguard. There was still much to do. At least, everything was moving forward. It would not be long till the most suitable lady arrived, and he was able to judge her qualifications. Still the city was buzzing about so many families. It was a major and sudden economic boom, and the people were all praising him for it. Gold dragons would spill from every hand soon, and taxes would flow into the healthy coffers. What was good for the people was better for him.

 

Everything was suitably prepared. A dress for each lady had been sewn in their house colors. It was practical to give such a gift. It would be implicitly understood that they were to wear it. He would be able to readily identify each lady by colors and motifs on her gown. It would be seen as a sign of goodwill by their families that he present them with fine presents.

 

Ser Barristan had sent word ahead about the northron ladies he could expect to see in a few days if travel went as planned. Mormont, Karstark, Manderly, and more were traveling with their liege lord’s daughter. He had knighted a young man from House Stark, sworn to serve the future queen. This Ser Jon Snow had apparently saved many lives when they were attacked along the road. He also reported that the girl with the bloodline to become queen was also very agreeable and exceptionally beautiful. That was something he would decide for himself, just as he would see for himself if the most astonishing part of the report he was hearing was accurate.

 

They said that Ser Jon Snow had a baby dragon that appeared in the morning light after he was knighted.

 

Until then he would endure a family dinner this evening with his brother and sister, their respective spouses, their children and grandchildren, and his daughter and her husband. It was not something that he was particularly looking forward to.


	3. Introduction to a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They say he has the ferocity of Ser Jaime Lannister, the strength of Lord Lyonel Baratheon, the valor of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, the merciful heart of Ser Duncan the Tall, and the honor of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning and my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning (sort of): I adore House Dayne. Not that I know of anyone who dislikes them. But just in case, I thought it might be good to let readers know...I may portray them as shamelessly wonderful. 
> 
> (I'm not bitter at all that they were mostly cut from the TV show...)

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Dreamsong poked his head out of her sewing basket. The main street through King’s Landing had been blocked off by the king’s household guard and the city watch. There had still been shouts to see the dragon. Sansa had expected as much. The pretty white and red dragon had immediately burrowed beneath a white fox pelt in her sewing basket. He had not made so much as a peep when Sansa moved the basket to her lap and began telling him a story of the great dragons of the Targaryen kings and queens, that he would grow to be every bit as big and strong as they had been, that he would have a rider. His red eyes had peeked out at her as she told him the story before beginning to sing the Hymn of the Mother to him quietly.

 

During the day, he would often curl in her lap to have his wings petted and nap when he was not riding on Jon’s shoulder outside, occasionally testing his wings for a few minutes at a time until the late afternoon when he wanted to hunt as camp was set up. He hunted with his fire, roasting birds and small rodents before eating them and returning to his basket or curl up with Jon for the night.

 

Jon and Robb both took her arms to help her from the carriage as she lifted Dreamsong from his basket to cuddle him in her arms. He seemed to have doubled in size during the few weeks since his hatching, and she could not resist kissing the top of his head as he stretched his long neck up toward her before looking around at his new surroundings. She shushed him gently when he stretched his wings up to rest on her shoulders and made a sweet squeak as his head and neck twisted around, taking everything in.

 

The walls of the Red Keep rose around them imposingly. The sharp angles of the castle and the spear-like towers were so different from Winterfell. Long stone pathways wound away through several gates in the main courtyard to handsomely kept gardens overflowing with flowers Sansa had only seen in books. 

 

The voice speaking above them caught Sansa’s attention as the dragon gave a flap of his wings to half jump and half glide to Jon. He climbed Jon’s arm till he was able to curl around her brother’s shoulders and flick his tail against Jon’s light leather jerkin. Sansa smoothed down the skirt of pale green dress that had been her mother's when she was younger.

 

“Lords and ladies of the North, the king is attending to matters of state. You’ll be shown to your rooms, and given the remainder of the day to acclimate to the city and rest. Brothers and sisters will be in rooms next to each other. If there’s anything you need, servants will be assigned to attend to your needs.” Lord Hand Kevan Lannister stood in front of them all. “If you are a sworn shield of a young woman, you'll be given appropriate accommodations as close as possible to your lady.”

 

Sansa reached for Robb’s arm, tugging it close, and she felt him straighten up a little taller and prouder. The Lord Hand explained that the king had provided each of them with a new set of clothing that was better suited the climate of the capital.

 

“My Lady.”

 

Sansa looked into the bright green eyes of the Lord Hand, releasing her brother’s arm to curtsy to Lord Kevan Lannister. His eyes were drawn to the dragon sitting on Jon’s shoulder, just as every other person sought to see him on their journey south as word seemed to travel on wings that dragons were once again in Westeros.

 

“My Lord.”

 

“The king requested that I personally escort you and your brother to your rooms. Which of these fine young men is your brother?”

 

Sansa looked up at Robb, and she touched his arm. He smiled and took her hand in his.

 

“This is my brother and my father’s heir, Lord Robb, and this,” Sansa reached for Jon’s hand with a smile. “This is my sworn shield, Ser Jon Snow.”

 

“And that is the dragon.” Lord Kevan’s eyes fastened on Dreamsong who gave a small squeak as he tucked his small head under Jon’s curls to hide.

 

“A baby dragon.” Robb said, looking at the dragon as curiously as ever.

 

“All dragons started as hatchlings, and they all grew up. Some large enough to melt stone towers.”

 

Jon cut his eyes to her, and she could see the protectiveness for his new pet in them. He felt as close to Dreamsong now as he had ever felt for him as an egg. He reached a hand up and stroked one of the delicate wings.

 

“The king will want to see the dragon immediately. We weren’t sure what to believe when we heard the tales. The first dragon in more than a century.”

 

Lord Kevan offered his arm to her, and Dreamsong squeaked, leaping and gliding to her. He settled in her arms, one clawed hand resting on her forearm as possessive and gentle as ever.

 

Her eyes darted to Jon, and he gave her a barely noticeable nod to let her know to keep the dragon tucked close. He had expressed his worry at one point about what the king might think of a dragon being the pet of some bastard boy. Dragons belonging to bastard Targaryens had brought a great deal of destruction to the seven kingdoms not so long ago. It was not something people were like to forget soon either, the Dance of the Dragons. Still, Jon was the truest and most loyal man she knew, and he was her brother.

 

Sansa tucked her hand gently onto Lord Kevan’s offered elbow as she settled Dreamsong in her other arm. He stretched his wings up so the tiny claws on them rested on her shoulders as they entered the castle. She tipped her cheek down to brush the top of his head.

 

It was a great honor to be escorted by the Hand of the King, and they were to meet the king immediately.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

Tywin stood, dismissing court for the day the moment he received the missive from Ser Addam. All the plans had been made for him to quickly encounter the young woman he had selected to be queen, to bear his children, to ensure his legacy. It would be a small private meeting in a secluded corridor. He would also see for himself if there was any truth to the reports about the dragon. They said the dragon was often in the arms of Lady Sansa or on the shoulder of her Ser Jon Snow, sworn to her service and to protect her. He walked with slow purposeful strides from the throne room, flanked by two kingsguards.

 

Each lady of the highest houses had been quickly greeted upon their arrival, despite his decision already having been made. Lady Arianne Martell was beautiful, but she was also ambitious and conniving, as well as being her father’s heir to Sunspear according to Dornish law. It had also been reported that she was flirting heavily with Arys Oakheart. Besides, the Dornish royalty already had a Lannister in their family. Lady Margaery Tyrell was a sweet, beautiful maid, and a fine marriage to bring her into their family was easily possible. She just would not be wed to him, not with her manipulative, deceitful grandmother coming as her chaperone of sorts. Lord Varys’s little birds had heard the woman’s whispers to her grandchild. Margaery would be a fine match for the Stark or Tully boy. Then they would all be connected by blood. There would be little reason for them to war with each other.

 

He had need to meet the Starks as was. Stories about the young man chosen for and sworn to his future wife told the tale of a young man skilled with sword and lance enough to have earned a battlefield knighting by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Ser Barristan had reported it, but the stories of the young man with a dragon had grown from the commoners retellings. They made this young man sound like a swordsman as brave and honorable as Ser Arthur Dayne or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. He even had the dragon to go with his knighthood.

 

He was as eager to meet this young man and assess his prowess as he was to see how well brought up the woman he intended to make his queen would be. The boy was already a legend, not that he knew it. If he was as good as the claims about him, and being knighted in the aftermath made it sound promising that he was exceptionally skilled for his age and bold, he would be a superb edition to the kingsguard.

 

“Your Grace.”

 

Tywin turned and saw his brother walking purposefully to his side. He was followed by two red-haired youths and one young man with dark curls that had the northern look to him. He stayed close to the young woman, quiet as a shadow. Robb Stark was reputed to have the Tully look, so the other must be Jon Snow.

 

What the young woman cradled in her arms had him stiffening. A small red and white creature had tiny clawed arms stretched to her shoulders as if he were a small child hugging his mother. Her hand stroked the wings tenderly as the baby dragon rubbed his head against the underside of her chin. At least, the creature appeared docile enough, though there was no saying how long it might remain obedient. Still, there was no reason to behave rashly with something that was so valuable. If it could be trained, and history taught that they could and had been trained and ridden, then the dragon, so long as its master was sworn to him, would make him one of the most powerful men in the world.

 

“Sunspear’s sails have been spotted.” Kevan smiled at the Starks as he turned to explain. “His Grace’s daughter, Princess Cersei of Dorne, will be coming ashore soon.”

 

The young lady who was tall for her age and could only by Sansa Stark smiled shyly at this. She appeared as sweet and tender-hearted as his Joanna had been when he told her that they were to be wed. Joanna had not deserved the torment that she had endured. Joanna was the woman who should be queen, but she had been stolen from him by a despotic madman and an ugly little imp.

 

It would be best to keep Cersei and his betrothed apart. His daughter would see one thing in the beautiful woman, competition. Sansa would be having his child in time, and that child would take the seven kingdoms away from Cersei. His firstborn would never see that the kingdom could not go to a woman with no children. He could not give the kingdom to Jaime either; he killed Tywin’s predecessor. He would not give his son a poisoned gift. The dwarf had been disinherited after marrying a whore and running away to Essos. With any luck, he was in the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, and he would never return.

 

“The North has arrived. This is Lord Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell and the North, and this is Lady Sansa. My Lord, my Lady, King Tywin Lannister.”

 

Robb bowed as his sister curtsied. Behind them, the other young man had dropped to one knee.

 

“Rise.”

 

The young man rose quickly. Tywin took stock of him. This must be the man that Ser Barristan had knighted. He did not look much of a knight yet, wearing only a mail hauberk and leather jerkin. A plain sword hung from a simple leather belt slung about his hips, and a well made grey cloak streamed down his back almost to the floor. That was something easily changed. He moved to Lady Sansa’s side.

 

“Who is this man, Lady Sansa?”

 

A guard was proper and acceptable, but a young, passionate love would have to be stamped out. He would not tolerate such, not even rumors. Rumors had been enough to take Joanna away. He would not let rumors take another woman.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa took a deep breath and barely managed to stop herself from giving Jon an anxious look. She had been taught all her life that it was a monstrous sin to lie to a king, and it felt wrong to keep the truth about her brother from him. But it would also be wrong to disregard her father’s words and advice. He surely had good reasons for what he had told them. It might be to protect Jon as much as her, not that she knew what could hurt Jon. When Dreamsong was grown, nothing would be able to hurt Jon. He would ride to the clouds and back, the most famous knight of all time.

 

“This is Ser Jon Snow, my sworn shield.”

 

“The man on every tongue.”

 

The king’s voice was quite deep as he spoke and looked over Jon. She glanced between him and the king. Dreamsong peeped then, taking the attention of everyone in the hall.

 

“Hush, Dreamsong.”

 

Dreamsong hissed and rattled the little spikes on his back before settling again. She looked up at the king then. His sharp, green eyes were watching the dragon coldly like he was a block of ice. She wrapped her arms around the little baby then, fearing for him.

 

"He's very gentle, Your Grace." She would cry her eyes out if another precious creature had to die for no reason.

 

“You’ll join us at dinner this evening, Ser Jon. Being raised to knighthood by a member of my kingsguard is deserving of a place of honor. You’ll also have new armor made at the crown’s expense as my thanks for protecting Lady Sansa. The finest armorer in King's Landing has been summoned to the castle to take your measurements today, and you needn’t worry for your lady. Ser Jaime will be pleased to protect her.”

 

Sansa turned quickly to Jon. She knew what their father had taught them about the Kingslayer, but he was also the son of the king. She saw the stony look on Jon’s face and knew that he disapproved of this arrangement deeply. Still the offer was not something he could refuse. He would have fine new armor, and he would sit with them at dinner. Ser Jaime was a fine warrior, the youngest ever appointed to the highest order of knights in the land. Surely, he would do his duty to his king and obey his father.

 

“Your Grace is generous.” Dreamsong chirped again and gave a flap to make it to Jon’s shoulder after he spoke. "I thank you."

 

She turned the best smile she could manage to the king. He was acknowledging her brother’s—sworn shield’s—prowess as a warrior. It was as it should be, and Jon had accepted so gallantly. She felt certain that there going to be far finer things in Jon’s future than dressing all in black. Now that he was a knight, he might wed a high born beauty. With so many girls here, he might find a lady love.

 

Sansa shyly glanced up at him, the man who had become king after the fall of the Targaryens and Baratheons, the man the people of King’s Landing had rallied to when he came to defend them. He could have sacked the city when the gates had been thrown open to him, but he instead marched calmly to the castle.

 

“As Your Grace commands.”

 

“Kevan, come to my solar as soon as you’ve seen the Starks comfortably settled. See that Ser Jon has a room appropriate to his station as sworn shield to Lady Sansa.” He turned to one of his white cloaks. “Jaime, keep her safe.”

 

Ser Jaime stepped to her side without a word or gesture of greeting. She smiled at him. It was an honor to be guarded by one of the finest warriors in the land, and the king’s son no less. She would certainly not think of him as anything other than a shining knight.

 

“If the dragon causes any trouble or destruction, he will not be permitted to remain in this city.”

 

With these final words, the king departed with redcloaks and two kingsguards accompanying him. There were open places on the Kingsguard at this time. Perhaps, they would witness one or both being sworn to the king’s service. That would be truly wonderful. It made her heart flutter, just thinking about it.

 

Sansa’s heart beat faster in her chest as the king disappeared, and Ser Jaime moved to her side. The king’s son was at her side, one of the most famous swordsmen in Westeros. First, Ser Barristan had been sent to escort them, now Ser Jaime was to personally guard her. He was so generous to her. Father had said that Ser Barristan had been sent to protect her especially.

 

As they walked deeper into the Red Keep, her mind wandered to the hundred and a half stories she had been told about King Tywin, the Great Lion of Lannister, from her father, mother and Maester Luwin. Even her father’s men-at-arms had stories to tell about the emerald eyed king. They said after the deaths of Lord Robert Baratheon and Prince Rhaegar in the raging waters of the Trident that her father had ridden into the capital. He found Tywin Lannister’s army defending the city and a dead king. Princess Elia and her children were killed by the Mad King forcing them to drink wildfire. He was not the first Targaryen to think his family or himself immune to fire. That was how Aegon the Unlikely had died at Summerhall, not from wildfire but from trying to hatch dragons, what Jon had somehow figured out.

 

Sansa's nerves twisted as she looked at her brother and his dragon, wondering what was next as her father surely must have when he came here last all those years ago. After so much chaos and war, the people had begged Lord Tywin to stay and rule the city. His time as Hand of the King had not been forgotten. The good of his reforms and building projects that improved the kingdom, the grand tourneys he held in the name of the king. All had been good while he had been there. Many said that Tywin that had ruled the seven kingdoms, even when another man wore the crown. They wanted him back and to prosper in peace again. Lord Tywin, as he was then, had a reputation for swiftly ending the men who went to war with him.

 

“My Lady.”

 

Sansa looked up as Lord Kevan threw open the door and gasped at the beauty of the room she was being given. A large vase of roses and lilies sat on a finely painted table, filling the room with sweet fragrance. Fine silvery, transparent curtains floated in the afternoon wind blowing in off the Narrow Sea. Bright sails of more than a dozen different boats flashed in the light.

 

“My Lady—” Sansa turned immediately as she was addressed and saw four servant girls around her own age. “These are your servants. They’ll help you prepare for dinner this evening, Lady Sansa. If there is anything you require, they will attend to you.”

 

“I’m pleased to meet you.” She smiled at them. “This is Ser Jon Snow, my sworn shield. He’ll be with me often. This is my brother, Lord Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell.”

 

The young women all curtsied, as her brothers and Lord Kevan excused themselves to allow her to prepare. Jon took her aside gently before he left and told her not to hesitate about calling him should she have need of him. All he wanted was to keep her safe.

 

Before he left, Dreamsong jumped to her arms and pressed his head to the underside of her chin affectionately. She told him to be a good dragon and returned him back to Jon, promising that she would see him later that evening.

 

 **`⚔`S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L`⚔ ⚔`D`⚔`A`⚔`W`⚔`N** **```⚔ ⚔`** **S**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **O** **`⚔`** **R** **`⚔`** **D** **`⚔`** **O** **`⚔`** **F** **`⚔`** **T** **`⚔`** **H** **`⚔`** **E** **`⚔`** **M** **`⚔`** **O** **`⚔`** **R** **`⚔`** **N** **`⚔`** **I** **`⚔`** **N** **`⚔`** **G** **`⚔`** **`⚔`D`⚔`A`⚔`W`⚔`N** **```⚔`** **`⚔`** **S** **`⚔`** **T** **`⚔`** **A** **`⚔`** **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L`⚔`**``

 

Edric walked quietly through the halls of the Red Keep. As soon as he was a safe distance from where he had seen the children of Lord Eddard, he raced toward the rooms that he and Allyria had been assigned. The Starks were here. They both wanted to meet them. There were so many stories about the Lords of Winterfell and their own house.

 

The red-haired lord and lady were obviously Lord Robb and Lady Sansa. They both rather favored their mother, but the dark-haired young man who had walked just behind Lady Sansa was someone altogether different. The stories of Ser Jon Snow having a dragon had not been fanciful or exaggerated, and Edric had felt his heart leap at the sight the little dragon made. He had seen the little dragon flap between Ser Jon and Lady Sansa just as the stories said.

 

“Allyria,” he called, pushing open the door to her room. “Allyria!”

 

She would know for sure how to proceed with approaching the Starks and asking them all the questions they had, but she was not here. He would wait for her. He could not help wondering about all that was said about the young man sworn to guard Lady Sansa. He would find a way to meet him and serve as his squire if he could.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa sighed as the servants finished fixing her hair. Her servants tittered over her, twisting her hair into an elegant crown of braids after helping her into the silk dress that His Grace had ordered made specifically for her. An elegant line of pearls decorated the neckline of the lovely ivory silk, and lines of gray wolves chased each other around the ends of her sleeves and hem. She had never seen such a beautiful dress.

 

A soft knock at her door caught her attention as one of the servants finished lacing up the dress.

 

“Come in,” she called as the servants stepped back.

 

Ser Jaime entered first, followed by seven ladies.

 

“Lady Margaery Tyrell, Lady Talla Tarly, Lady Allyria Dayne, Lady Alysanne Lefford, Lady Jeyne Westerling, Lady Falys Stokeworth, and Lady Rosamund Frey.”

 

“We could hardly wait to meet you, Lady Sansa,” the girl in the green dress with gold roses who must be Lady Margaery said.

 

“We’ve heard all about your journey. It sounds like it was terrifying,” a girl with a golden chain of seashells said, walking toward her to take her hand.

 

“We’re northerners. We made it through a little flurry to get here.” Sansa smiled at them all reassuringly.

 

“And a dragon hatched, so they say.” Lady Falys looked a little nervous at these words. “Is it true?”

 

“Yes.” Sansa smiled at their big eyes. It was perfectly natural to be curious about an animal thought so long dead coming back to life, and Sansa had been a witness. “My sworn shield Ser Jon Snow hatched Dreamsong from an egg left beneath Winterfell during the Dance of the Dragons.”

 

“We’re so glad to meet you.” A girl in pale lavender offered a gentle smile with her words. The tiniest little sword shaped charm hung over her breast. Lady Allyria Dayne, Sansa had no doubt of that. “We came to invite you on a walk in the gardens with us, if you’re not too tired from your journey. We put together a little party to welcome you.”

 

“You’re so generous and too kind. I'm honored.”

 

Sansa slipped out the door and was immediately joined by Ser Jaime who followed her closely as they made their way to one of the lower gardens that overlooked the Narrow Sea. Hundreds of different flowers made it a very colorful space, and a beautiful tent was erected in which several older women sat waiting for them. Almost a dozen servants moved about carrying plates of fruit, bread, cheese, and roasted meats.

 

Each lady greeted Sansa politely, and she nodded to them in turn. She was almost overwhelmed by the company in which she was seated. A singer came out and began singing a lovely song about Prince Aemon the Dragonknight defending Queen Naerys against the wicked Ser Morgil who had accused her of infidelity.

 

“What was it like?” Sansa turned her attention from the singer to the young woman speaking to her and saw it was Lady Margaery, and the other girl clarified her question. “Being in a battle? It sounds terrifying, but being rescued by your sworn shield. That sounds wonderful. Very romantic.”

 

Sansa almost laughed. Jon being romantic was a wild idea. These girls clearly did not know him yet. He was awkward at best around women and unbearably shy, generally too shy to look at them, let alone kiss them. She had heard stories of his shyness from many of the servant girls a little older than her. He mostly turned red when they smiled at him or tried to speak with him. He would slink away to the training yard and often not emerge till late in the evening.

 

“Is he handsome?” Lady Talla asked, pressing a grape into her mouth.

 

“And your brother. Lord Robb?” Lady Alysanne asked, tilting her head sweetly to one side. “I hope you’ll introduce us. They say he has the Tully look, like yourself.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll meet Robb soon,” Sansa said with a smile. "As for Ser Jon, you'll see him this evening at dinner and judge for yourself."

 

The ladies tittered a little more and returned to listening to the singer as he sang of the fight between Prince Aemon and Morgil.

 

“Is Ser Jon Snow as gifted as they say?” The softness of the voice caught Sansa a little off guard, and she turned to the speaker who had sat at her side.

 

Lady Allyria’s lovely purple eyes watched her curiously. A lovely clip shaped like a shooting star held her dark curls away from her face. A tale of her father dancing with this woman’s older sister flitted through her mind, along with the knowledge that her father had killed her brother, Ser Arthur Dayne.

 

“Forgive me, Lady Allyria. I’ve not been here long enough to know what’s said of my sworn shield.”

 

She knew what was said in the North. They said he was as fine a man as any to walk the seven kingdoms. She had seen him practice his skill with Winterfell’s guards, and she had seen him besting them since he was twelve. She still remembered how startled and pleased she was when he told her that he wished to enter her service and come south with her as her sworn shield. When he knelt to her in Winterfell’s great hall, in front of all the men and women of the castle, she had turned bright red and made her promises to him after he pledged to serve her. She had been completely confident that she would be the safest and most well guarded lady in the seven kingdoms.

 

When the singing grew a little louder, Lady Allyria scooted closer to her, taking a sip of wine.

 

“They say he has the ferocity of Ser Jaime Lannister, the strength of Lord Lyonel Baratheon, the valor of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, the merciful heart of Ser Duncan the Tall, and the honor of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning and my brother.”

 

Sansa looked around as she noticed that the music had stopped and discovered the eyes of all the women were locked upon her and Lady Allyria. She had to smile at the descriptions. She knew the names of all those men well. Her brother Bran was a student of all things about knights, and he delighted in telling her the stories he learned about them as much as she had always enjoyed hearing them. Any young lady would be pleased to have a man such as the one that Lady Allyria was describing sworn as her protector.

 

“Is it true?” Lady Jeyne Westerling leaned forward with bright eyes.

 

It would only help Jon to find a fine, high born maiden to wed if she said yes, and she believed him to possess all those qualities. Any young lady would be thrilled to have such a knight as her shield, and Jon would ride a dragon in time. Sansa was certain of it from the moment that she saw Dreamsong crawl out of the ashes and climb to his shoulder. Jon would always protect her. He was a man of his word.

 

“Every word, and so much more we have yet to see.”

 

All the girls began giggling wildly at this. Only Lady Allyria did not giggle. She appeared intrigued and satisfied, though Sansa could not say why any more than she could explain why it made her feel a little nervous.

 


	4. THe Shy Knight

 

 **W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.** **F~** **I** **~R~** **E** **~** **A** **~** **N** **~** **D** **~** **B** **~** **L** **~** **O** **~** **O** **~** **D** **.** **W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon sat quietly at the high table, feeling enormously out of place among the company attending the evening feast. He had assumed it would be something of a grand feast, and it certainly was, all the heirs of Westeros were in attendance from Sunspear in the south to Last Hearth in the North. He had never seen so fine a company. As far as he could see, he was the only one not of noble birth this close to the king. It was probably partly his rescue of Sansa and partly Dreamsong that made the king want him close.

 

He had been shocked when one of the finest smiths in the city, Tobho Mott, had come and measured him for the armor the king had promised, armor made of the finest quality steel. He had asked numerous questions of how Jon wanted the armor to look as he took notes and made sketches. It would apparently be colored and etched with his new sigil that Sansa had mostly designed for him, a white dragon spitting fire with wings spread and head pointed at a falling star on a black field.

 

Lannisters certainly did nothing by half-measures. The wine was flowing quite freely in the room, and many a young lordling was in his cups. Jon had to be more careful than to allow himself to indulge too much as he had infrequently been able to as a boy when Lady Stark would banish him from the high table to avoid offending guests at different feasts.

 

He glanced down the table at Sansa and the king. The king may have given him the day off, but he had not sworn to protect his sister, except when he was off duty. He had been leery of leaving her that afternoon, though the king had left no room to refuse. She had a kingsguard protecting her, the most infamous one Westeros had seen in many years. It was one of the many things concerning him, why the king had spared no expense for him. It only made him wonder more at what the king’s plans could possibly be for his sister and himself.

 

Dreamsong sat on his lap, taking little bits of the meat that Jon offered him. He seemed to be preferring the sheep to anything else. He also kept looking toward Sansa and squeaking miserably when Jon told him that he must share her and be quiet. For the last hour, Dreamsong had draped himself over Jon’s shoulders, watching Sansa. If he was not a dragon, Jon would have said he was brooding.

 

The king had leaned close and spoken to Sansa often throughout the evening, particularly as he was introduced to various ladies and lords of the north. Every time Jon chanced a look in their direction, just on the other side of Robb from him, she was smiling and occasionally blushing. He must be flattering her in some way. The king knew what she was worth, and he was going to exploit its value for his benefit.

 

Satisfied that she was in no present danger, placed as she was at the king’s side, Jon turned his attention once again to the rest of the hall. So many different colors announced the presence of this lord’s son and that lord’s daughter. Great houses from every corner of Westeros were represented. Twin towers on blue, castles on orange, red apples, green apples, red and white diamonds, unicorns, lightning bolts, swords and stars, long-axes, bells, starbursts, seashells, ravens, quills, and so many more.

 

A tall woman, taller than any he had ever seen, was seated beside a man who could only be Lord Renly Baratheon of Storm’s End. She was constantly looking at the black haired lord and blushing before looking away after answering whatever query he made of her. Her quartered suns and crescent moons in rose and azure respectively was a sigil he did not readily recall. He was certain that Sansa would, and that she would be able to name anyone in the room with all being dressed in their house colors and emblems. Those lessons had been her favorites, while Jon had always been more excited to go to the training yard or ride horses.

 

“How are you doing, Snow?”

 

“Not as well as you, Stark.”

 

Robb glanced over at him and grabbed a little apple tart to pop in his mouth. His brother winked at him as he swallowed the bite before leaning in conspiratorially. The flush on Robb’s cheeks and the scent of wine on his breath told Jon that his brother had been indulging in the opportunity to drink without their father’s rule of only a single cup of wine on special occasions.

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Quite a few ladies have been chirping about the man knighted by Ser Barristan the Bold. As you’ve got a dragon now, they’re comparing you to that of the dragons of old. If they were saying those things about any other man, I’d suspect he started the rumors himself. Given that it’s you—” Robb trailed off, finishing the rest of the tart and grabbing another.

 

Jon glanced sharply at his brother, quite unsure what that was supposed to mean. Jon knew his personal skill with sword and lance, but he never wasted breath boasting about it. There was always something more to learn. The greatest fighters could always fall. Prince Rhaegar, Ser Arthur Dayne, Robert Baratheon—they were all warriors of great renown. There was always someone better out there.

 

“The ladies say you have the valor and honor of Baelor Breakspear and the sword and heart of a Ser Arthur Dayne.”

 

Jon almost rolled his eyes at this. He had heard nothing about the skirmish on the road from anyone, though he had been rather busy being fitted for armor the entire afternoon. Surely, this foolishness was not what anyone was thinking or saying about him. It was ridiculous to compare a man born to inherit a crown with a bastard boy from the north, even more with Baelor Breakspear, the prince who put down the Blackfyre Rebellion. It was more ludicrous to compare him to a Sword of the Morning, men who had to prove they were worthy of sword and title. They could dress him up in fine armor, paint him the finest shield, and his surname was still Snow.

 

“There’s to be dancing after dinner. You should ask one to dance.”

 

Jon shook his head. He would only dance with Sansa, and only if she commanded it. No highborn girl wanted him. Still, as he looked around, he noticed the bits of truth in what his brother had been saying. Almost a dozen ladies were peering at him curiously before turning to another lady close to them and whispering to her behind a hand. Then they would both look at him and giggle.

 

A pair of riveting violet eyes in a hauntingly beautiful face made his heart suddenly begin beating faster. Dark waves of hair hung down her back and draped her shoulders. A slender, silver blond braid twisted about the crown of her head and was woven with a pale lavender ribbon. The golden skin of her shoulders and upper arms contrasted sharply with the paleness of her dress and the silver collar that fastened around her shaped like a shooting star crossed with a sword that completed the picture.

 

He had never been so glad that he was sitting. His muscles quivered all over, and he was certain he would have fallen to his knees had he been on his feet. It was not until she smiled at him that he had to look away, his face burning like fire.

 

“Seems you like them dark and mysterious.” Robb laughed at his scowl.

 

Dreamsong hissed at Robb before leaping from Jon’s shoulder and flapped around the room, silencing everyone as he made his rounds. He grabbed a hunk of roasted venison from a platter hauled his meat up to a roost in the rafters. Jon shook his head.

 

Jon chanced glancing back at the most gorgeous girl he had ever seen and saw she was speaking to a younger boy with silvery blond hair before she kissed his cheek and peaked up at where the dragon was noisily enjoying his feast. That was the last thing he needed. He had promised to protect Sansa. He had no time for distractions, even ones that beautiful and especially ones that were soon to be engaged to more suitable men than ones with bastard surnames.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

Lady Sansa smiled as she named another lady in the room at his request. When he asked for a few details about Lady Brienne of Tarth, she gave several softly spoken details.

 

They came from the Sapphire Isle, so named for the blue of its waters. Their lord was called the Evenstar, and they were descendants of Ser Duncan the Tall, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard under Aegon V or Aegon the Unlikely.

 

“Correct. Your maester taught you well, my Lady. You obviously applied yourself to learning your lessons about all the great houses.”

 

It was good that she knew so much. It was less time that he would require Genna to spend instructing her on matters about which she should already be aware. Her courtesy was absolutely without fault. He had heard compliments about her from a number of ladies, and none of those in her presence. They were genuine impressions, not being said with the intention to flatter the young woman whom many believed a likely candidate for queen.

 

“Your Grace is kind to say so. I thank you.”

 

Tywin glanced around at the rest of his guests after the dragon roosted up away from everyone. He hoped he would be able to send most of them home quickly after determining which houses to unite in marriage and his wedding. Having so many young lords and ladies at court was expensive. The first strains of a sprightly tune with a name hardly worth recalling began to play as the servants cleared away some dishes.

 

He steeled himself for what was next. He had danced with Lady Margaery and Lady Arianne at their welcoming feasts, knowing that he would not be selecting either of those girls. It was not about what he wanted. It was what was expected, and there was no reason to offend them. Parties and feasts held little charm for him as a child, and they only made him more miserable after Joanna’s death.

 

It took a great deal of strength to shove back thoughts of her even now. He still mourned her loss after all these years. He kept it concealed behind slabs of ice taller and thicker than the Wall that kept the Wildlings so far from the northern lords. It was time to do as he must again. He had a duty to the kingdoms.

 

He required an heir. An heir meant having a wife, picking a queen for Westeros. That queen would likely outlive him. He would need to be doubly sure to pick well. There was no choice finer than the lovely lady beside him. She had the pedigree to ensure peace.

 

Lady Arianne was devious, and he had married his daughter to the Martells. They would be closer to him if she had been able to successfully bear Prince Oberyn’s children, but there was little that could be done about it. Lady Margaery had relatives too greedy and intelligent for him to allow her much closer to the throne when there were likely alternatives to drawing their family closer to the Lannisters.

 

“Lady Sansa, may I lead you through this first dance?”

 

“It would be an honor, Your Grace.”

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa did her best to avoid staring at where her hand rested in the king’s. She was to dance with him, in front of all those gathered. She had heard this afternoon that it was his fashion to ask the principal lady in attendance to share the first, and his only, dance of the evening.

 

Lady Margaery said he danced quite well, despite being rather unsociable as he lead her. She had not had the pleasure of meeting Lady Arianne Martell yet, but she had seen the Dornish girl destined to inherit Sunspear. She was not a tall lady, but she was dark and beautiful. Many young men were paying her attention, and she gave them attention in return, though only two had earned her smile. A man with mostly silver white hair that had a fine ebony streak on one side, and Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard.

 

Her eyes found the great, green eyes of the king as he led her calmly and confidently through the steps. His head remained as high and proud as the lion sigil of his house. He had given little, if any, indication of his pleasure or displeasure since the evening began.

 

The only moment when she thought she detected pleasure in him was when she continued to correctly name different lords and ladies in attendance. He had nodded ever so slightly when he said correct, and his voice had inflected differently as he looked into her eyes. It was emotion, at least, if only a sort of satisfaction at finding her to have been educated as young ladies of the highest and noblest houses in Westeros ought to be. It had made Sansa want to puff up and beam with pride, but she had kept it inside. A lady must never affect a self-satisfied demeanor, particularly around a king. It was impolite.

 

The young ladies at her welcome party this afternoon had told her that the rumors of his generally severe, forbidding, and austere nature were absolutely true. She had found herself feeling shy and keeping rather quiet, hoping that she would be less likely to offend him by speaking about something of no interest to him. She did not know what subjects he would enjoy sharing conversation about. Her septa had always advised that she could learn more by listening than talking.

 

He gazed steadily into her eyes, tightening his hold on her hand as the song ended. She curtsied and bowed her head.

 

“Lady Sansa, I should enjoy taking you on a tour of the Red Keep’s gardens tomorrow morning before escorting you to court. I have an important matter to share with you.”

 

“I shall be ready, Your Grace.”

 

“Please enjoy the festivities.”

 

He nodded and walked away with quick strides, collecting two kingsguards and the lord Hand as he made his way to the dais. He took his place in the seat at the top of the hall and shared quiet words with those around him.

 

“Lady Sansa!” She turned her attention from the king and met the pleasant, smiling eyes of Lady Margaery Tyrell. “My brother, Lord Willas, has begged me for an introduction to you, and I promised him that I would bring you over. You wouldn’t make a liar of me, would you?”

 

“How could I possibly refuse to meet the heir to Highgarden and the Reach?” Sansa responded with a smile as the other girl linked their arms together happily.

 

“And I do hope that you’ll return the favor. Lord Robb is quite handsome, and I would very much like to meet him.”

 

Sansa sighed and put her walk with the king out of her mind. She would learn what he wished to speak of with her soon enough. Wondering about it would only distract her from enjoying the party as he wished her to. She was determined to make friends. She had never known such varied and excellent company in her life. She would surely secure more dances with many of the young lords.

 

 **`⚔`S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L`⚔ ⚔`D`⚔`A`⚔`W`⚔`N** **```⚔ ⚔`** **S**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **O** **`⚔`** **R** **`⚔`** **D** **`⚔`** **O** **`⚔`** **F** **`⚔`** **T** **`⚔`** **H** **`⚔`** **E** **`⚔`** **M** **`⚔`** **O** **`⚔`** **R** **`⚔`** **N** **`⚔`** **I** **`⚔`** **N** **`⚔`** **G** **`⚔`** **`⚔`D`⚔`A`⚔`W`⚔`N** **```⚔`** **`⚔`** **S** **`⚔`** **T** **`⚔`** **A** **`⚔`** **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L`⚔`**

 

Edric kept to the edges of the dancing. He was only twelve and a little small for his age, so he was easily ignored. His aunt was surrounded by a dozen and a half lordlings from every corner of Westeros. All were vying for her attention, and she had danced with only one admirer. Many of the young men were likely to walk away disappointed or more ardent than ever in their affection for her. Allyria had already confided in him that she was only interested in dancing with one particular young knight, and she was willing to turn down other dance invitations to wait for his invitation.

 

He had spotted the young, newly made knight several times as he sulked in the shadows with a little white dragon on his shoulder, but he had not found the nerve to approach Ser Jon Snow. The knight wore a fine leather jerkin, and his cloak was stitched with the most beautifully wrought direwolf that Edric had ever seen. He hid behind a mess of dark curls and one eye was always locked on his lady as she danced slowly and carefully with the crippled Lord Willas before taking a turn with Lord Dondarrion and her uncle Edmure.

 

After that, Edric stopped paying too much attention to her. She was young, gorgeous, and from one of the most ancient bloodlines in Westeros. She was going to make a fine match, and if the king held to the promises he had made, he would be taking into account the expressed desires of the young lordlings and ladies.

 

All the stories they had heard about Starks were intriguing to say the least, and what he had always been told of his aunt, the lady Ashara, made him more eager to learn all he could about everyone from Winterfell.

 

The story still haunted their family so deeply that Edric had always been reluctant to ask for more details. His father always turned sad when his brother and sister were mentioned. He knew much that no one would hide and everyone could say.

 

His uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne, was still spoken of as a legend of the Kingsguard especially in Dorne, much to the disgust of their cousin Gerold. Uncle Arthur, the last Sword of the Morning, had a reputation as a horseman with a lance that was never disputed by any who had saw him at war or tourney. Still, it was the way he danced with a sword and painted his enemies red, retaining his honor, that made the commoners speak of him as their champion. Uncle Arthur had been the first Dayne in a century to earn the right to carry their ancestral sword, Dawn, and bear the name The Sword of the Morning. He had heard the story of how his uncle defeated the Smiling Knight a thousand times. Dawn broke the Smiling Knight’s sword, and his uncle had waited for him to get a second sword to continue their duel. They said his only peer had been Prince Rhaegar.

 

Still, his uncle had died, been killed by Lord Stark, along with the White Bull and Ser Oswell Whent. His father and aunt never said how Lord Stark managed to kill Uncle Arthur. All he knew from his father was that the Warden of the North had tears in his eyes and had scarcely been able to speak as he fell to his knees at the feet of his father and Aunt Ashara when he returned Dawn. Allyria had whispered to him that his father said that he had never seen so much shame in any man as Lord Stark the day he left Starfall with a baby and a nursemaid.

 

Edric wiggled, remembering the story Allyria had told him about the love Ashara and Lord Stark had shared at the Harrenhal Tourney, how they had danced and fallen in love with each other. He sighed, forcing away the stories so he could focus. He and Allyria both wanted to speak to the Starks. They both had questions, and they both wondered if it was possible.

 

 **W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.** **F~** **I** **~R~** **E** **~** **A** **~** **N** **~** **D** **~** **B** **~** **L** **~** **O** **~** **O** **~** **D** **.** **W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon sat quietly in the corner he had found for himself. He spent most of his time watching everyone dance, mostly watching Sansa to see that she did not get taken or sneak off somewhere private where she could get into trouble. He had never been very good at dancing, regardless of Sansa’s best attempts at trying to make him into a suitable partner. He never stepped on her toes, but he never truly felt he belonged either, no matter how hard she tried.

 

Dreamsong had finished his meal and flapped down to rest across Jon’s shoulders and drape around his neck with his head down.

 

Sansa had charmed and delighted more than a dozen lords, including Prince Quentyn Martell, Renly Baratheon, and a Royce from the Gates of the Moon. Everyone walked away smiling after dancing with her. It was only after a turn with Ser Lancel Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock, that she was able to make her way to him.

 

“Jon, you must dance at least once. You can’t spend your life in a corner.” She took his hand gently between hers. “You’re disappointing all the ladies here.”

 

Jon almost grimaced. He knew nothing of highborn girls. He had always believed he would either serve as a man-at-arms, eventually working his way up to Master of Arms at Winterfell, or he would join the Night’s Watch and range north of the wall with Uncle Benjen. He had been helping train his younger brother Bran before his father asked him to go with Sansa. Bran had confided in him that he wanted to serve on the Kingsguard just before they left. He had hugged Jon tight, making him promise to put in a good word when the time came and to join if he was asked.

 

Jon had told him that he could make no promises to the king that might force him to break those already sworn to their father and Sansa. Bran had understood that and begged Jon, at the very least, to practice once with Barristan the Bold if he could. Then he must write and tell him about it. He had the story that he could write to his little brother now. He had not practiced with Ser Barristan. Instead, he fought beside him. Jon did not think their father would appreciate his deeds being told to Bran, a boy of nine. Still, he would not turn down the chance to train with the Kingsguard if he was asked, unlikely as that would be. Of course, bastards served the king as much as everyone else in the kingdom. Some even rose to become Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

 

“Sansa, I’m no good.”

 

“How did you become the finest swordsman in the North, Jon?” She tugged his hand, leading him out to dance reluctantly. “You practiced every day.”

 

“Sansa.”

 

“My Lady.” His sister corrected mildly, putting a pretty, but stubborn, smile on her face. “You swore to serve me obediently so long as I never ask you to dishonor yourself. Dancing will being no shame to you or to House Stark.”

 

Jon sighed somewhat broodingly. There was no polite way to refuse her now that they were in the middle of the floor. He served her.

 

“Just one dance, my Lady. I beg you.”

 

Sansa just smiled at this as she lead him to the group she had been dancing with and introduced him.

 

“Lady Allyria, Prince Quentyn, Lady Margaery, Lord Uncle Edmure, this is Ser Jon Snow, my sworn shield.”

 

“Ser.”

 

Lord Edmure nodded to him, watching the dragon on his shoulder more than looking into his eyes. It was only to be expected, and Dreamsong retaliated by stretching up to his full height. He screeched and shot a small, brief jet of flame in the air. Lord Tully took a startled step back as the little dragon jumped to Sansa’s arms.

 

“You have my gratitude for defending my niece on her travels. We owe you a great debt.”

 

“No debt is owed to a man who keeps his word. It’s an honor to serve and protect Lord Stark’s daughter.”

 

Jon ignored Lady Allyria’s shy smile, keeping his eyes on Sansa instead as she cuddled the dragon.

 

“Lord Renly will be joining us soon, Lady Sansa. He’s just gone to fetch another partner.”

 

“I think he’s danced with every lady from the Stormlands. He has such a friendly nature.”

 

Jon kept his eyes averted as they spoke quietly, waiting for the music to begin again and for Lord Renly to rejoin them.

 

“Ser Jon.”

 

He looked up directly into the hypnotic eyes of Lady Allyria and felt all rational thought and ability to string words together entirely abandon him. She was even more beautiful up close. He was saved from having to say anything or even hear her query when Lord Renly returned, leading the only woman in the room taller than he was.

 

“This is Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

 

Lady Brienne of Tarth looked almost as out of place as he felt, and her cheeks burned as she stood beside her liege lord. She was not a beautiful woman. No man had asked her to dance all evening, and she was sole heir to her father’s lands and castle.

 

The next moment _Florian and Jonquil_ began to play, and they all began dancing.

 


	5. Betrothals and Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want us to quarrel, Jon. It makes my heart sore. Come and see that the king means no harm to come to me."

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa ate quickly in her room after her maids helped her put on a deep blue silk dress stitched with green and dark pink river lilies. It was one of her mother’s old dresses that she had sent with her to wear at court. Lady Catelyn had worn it the first time that she attended court, and Sansa now wished to do the same. It had always been one of her favorites that she would go and touch, just to enjoy fabric that was not nearly warm enough to wear on even the hottest summer day at Winterfell. Beautiful silver hair pins topped with pearl flowers were slipped into the simple braids crowning her head.

 

She had been replaying the nearly magical night in her memory ever since she woke and her maids helped her to bathe. The feast had been sumptuous, the dancing divine, and the company completely wonderful. It had chased the nightmare of Lady’s loss from her mind. She had dreamed of attending the King’s Court ever since she was a little girl. He was always a good king and saw that justice was done. The Kingsguard were always the most gallant and chivalrous men, and the king was never far from their company.

 

King Tywin had spoken to her quite gently the whole evening, especially when he had leaned close and told her that those men who had attacked her would be brought to justice. Not long after, they had danced. Then he told her he wished to see her apart from all the others, to personally escort her around the Red Keep. He had ordered one of his Kingsguards to protect her personally, see that she was safe and looked after, his own son. She would be on his arm for a second day. None of the other ladies had mentioned being personally escorted by the king. She must have found some sort of favor in his eyes.

 

She had heard all her life that she was a beautiful girl. Perhaps that was what he liked. From everything she had ever heard since she arrived and been taught as a child, the king was not a man to waste words or time. She had also heard the stories of the king’s love for his first wife, before he was king. Lady Jeyne had whispered quietly to her when they paused their dancing for refreshment that her father told her that King Tywin had loved his wife dearly, that he knew that the Lady Joanna could be approached always to help in speaking to the cold man. She whispered with a shy smile that they said Tywin Lannister had ruled Westeros as king long before the lion crown graced his brow, but Lady Joanna ruled him. He never denied her anything. She heard similar stories from the other girls of the Westerlands, and ladies of an age with the king.

 

Then all the dancing afterward. She had hoped it would never end, twirling with each of the young lords. Then Jon at the end, and he had escorted her back to her room. She huffed, willing away her irritation at what had happened then, as a soft knock sounded at her door.

 

“Come in.”

 

“My Lady.”

 

Sansa smiled at him, choosing to focus on the fun they had as they danced for the first time in years, instead of their argument afterward. The dancing had been perfect, and it was the same as it had been when they were young. She had forced him to be her partner because Robb was always partnered with their teacher.

 

“About your walk with the king, my Lady.”

 

Dreamsong squeaked and swept over to her in a soft glide. He landed on the table, taking a piece of sausage from her plate. He pitched his head up in the air, swallowing the meat without chewing. His little wings arched as she scratched down the line of his back.

 

Sansa would have sighed at Jon if it was more ladylike. They had quietly quarreled about it on the way back to her rooms last night. She had invited him within to avoid becoming a spectacle, to keep the discussion private. He refused to listen. He was so stubborn. She took a sip of milk sweetened with honey to keep her temper from flaring. She let it slip down her throat slowly, reminding herself that he was just being Jon, and Jon had sworn to their father, had promised in front of all Winterfell that he would protect her and guard her from all the dangers of the south.

 

Was the king a danger to her? He surely did not wish to anger the north, the Riverlands, and the Vale. They had risen to come to the defense of Stark maids before. They would do so again. She had no doubt of it. She would be walking with the king. The king walked with his kingsguard and a number of his household guard. She could not have a safer walk than the one she would share with the protector of the realm. She would be utterly and completely protected from everyone.

 

He had been so kind to Jon, yet Jon spoke of him with suspicion, pointed out that even the reward for protecting her could be a bribe. The king trying to bribe Jon—anyone trying to give him money to make him forsake his family was too ridiculous. Jon was no sellsword. He was a knight, and he was her brother. He was Jon, and she knew he would never abandon her.She tried to gently explain that he had been given so fine a reward for protecting the daughter of one of the king’s highest lords.

 

To ensure her safety in the absence of her sworn shield, he had ordered his son to be her protector. No one doubted Ser Jaime Lannister’s skill was second to so few when he swung a sword. He fought the Kingswood Brotherhood as a squire and was knighted for it. He was a superb warrior, and he had treated her with chivalry and kindness. He was not as friendly as Ser Barristan, but they were separate people. She felt certain that if Ser Jaime guarded her more in the future that they would get to know each other. The king wanted her to feel safe and not have to worry about getting lost. Everyone knew that the Red Keep was not the simplest castle to navigate, thanks to the preferences of Maegor the Cruel. There were said to be thousands of secret passages and no small number of ways to escape if necessary.

 

“Jon.” She set her cup down daintily and looked up at him. “You promised to serve and obey me. I’ll be perfectly safe walking with the king. There’s a reason the people so readily accepted him. There’s a reason that so many lords agreed to end Robert’s Rebellion. Maester Luwin taught us that they always cheered him twice as loud for his as they did the king during his time as Hand. He’s not a bad man.”

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon’s jaw clenched at hearing these arguments again. He knew she wanted to go for a walk alone with the king, and he knew she felt completely safe and completely flattered by how she had been treated. She would be safe from everyone while she walked with the king, everyone except the king.

 

She saw only a small part of the story. All the lords had agreed to make Tywin Lannister king. There was more to it than what she said. Tywin Lannister was the only man with a fresh army. What he had done as a young man to two houses that revolted against the Lannisters was well known. The Reynes and the Tarbecks were completely annihilated. As nicely told as the story was of the king being so loved that he was made king by the people of King’s Landing, it was just as likely that he remained king because the lords of Westeros feared him.

 

It would not be cowardice to avoid war with the man who drowned a castle and who collapsed another all in less than a year. It would be wisdom, particularly when his army was large and fresh, and so many others had bad blood between them from having already been warring with each other.

 

“Aye, Sansa. I promised to obey you. I also promised to protect you, from yourself if need be.” He reached out and cupped her cheek as he had seen their father do half a hundred times when she tried to bully him with her lady’s manners. “If you don’t want me there for you, let me come for me. I need to know I’m doing my duty to you. I love you.”

 

Sansa softened at this, taking his hand between hers as Dreamsong climbed to his shoulder. She squeezed it as she lowered it between them. She took a deep breath, and Jon waited stiffly for her response, preparing himself with more gentle words to help her understand that they had come to a very dangerous place. He agreed that they would have a lonely life if they could only trust those with whom they grew up, but there were people here who would not prioritize the interests of the Starks.

 

“I don’t want us to quarrel, Jon. It makes my heart sore. Come and see that the king means no harm to come to me. Why would he? He would not anger the North in such a way. All Westeros is watching, the Vale, the North, and the Riverlands. One of the white swords, his son, guarded me yesterday.” Her fingers brushed back and forth over his knuckles as she wiggled, as though uncertain of how to say her next words. “He may mean to make me his queen. Father told me that he thought it likely.”

 

The king likely did intend to make Sansa queen, but not because he loved her in any way. Sansa longed for love. Jon knew her that well. Right now, she was the best political match the king could make. She had connections to three ancient houses, three armies. She was young and extraordinarily beautiful. She had flowered. She came from women who birthed children very successfully, and he was a man in need of a heir for the kingdom. No doubt Tywin Lannister meant to leave his throne as secure as Daeron II. He would want to have his legacy ensured for all time. Everything he had ever done had been to raise the Lannisters above all others.

 

“I’m coming with you. I know my place, Sansa. It’s at your side, keeping you safe. I love you.”

 

The heavy knock at the door had him withdrawing from her.

 

“Come in.”

 

A man in the gleaming white scale armor of the Kingsguard stepped inside and removed his helmet. Jon straightened up a little taller as Ser Barristan removed his helmet and smiled warmly at Sansa before bowing to her. At least a man of honor had been sent to escort his—lady—today.

 

“My Lady, the king sent me to escort you to the gardens for your walk.”

 

“Thank you, Ser.” She smiled warmly at the white haired knight as he offered her his arm.

 

Sansa tucked her hand onto the crook of his elbow, and they departed together.

 

Jon followed a few steps behind, listening to them exchange pleasantries about how well she slept so far from home, if she had enjoyed the party last night, and other inane chatter. He had to swallow his annoyance with her over their tiff. She had been the most cherished and protected person in their father’s castle. She would run if she was afraid; his other sister was not nearly so timid. Arya would take a sword and stick them with the pointy end. She had never had to face adversaries. All the world was good and agreeable to her because it was all she had known. She had never had anyone look down on her.

 

He had to remind her of her family’s words last night, _Winter is coming._ The Starks knew about difficult times. When he reminded her of the fates of their uncle and grandfather when they came south, when they came to King’s Landing, when they came to this very castle, her response had shocked him. She had spoken quietly, looking directly into his face as she said, _A different time and a different king_.

 

As much as he hated arguing with her, he would never forgive himself if harm came to her. It had wrenched his heart when Lady died. Seeing his normally calm, controlled, perfectly ladylike sister reduced to tears for so many days had torn him up, and he had ridden with her, giving her a shoulder to cry upon. Dreamsong had been the tiniest sort of balm for her wound. He had sat in her lap, holding her neck with his little clawed wings.

 

He worried for her so, still believing in the songs and stories of romance. She had seen how love could end, having heard the story of the love of their aunt Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar. Still she persisted in her faith that love could overcome all obstacles. That faith was something that he loved seeing in her as much as he feared what it would cost her to lose it.

 

That was why he was here, to keep Sansa grounded until she was ready to fly. If he failed, her heart might crash from the clouds like the dragons did during the Dance when Targaryens warred with each other, the greens and the blacks.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

Ser Gregor Clegane moved and breathed heavily as a man of his bulk could not help doing. He was enormous even when he was down on one knee. He was also a loyal, obedient, well trained war dog.

 

“You’ll go into the Vale and find the men that attacked the northerners. Kill them all except the leaders. Bring them to King’s Landing to be dealt with. Several Stark men will accompany you. Be on your best behavior around them.”

 

The Mountain nodded his giant head and rose to his feet.

 

Tywin dismissed the man as Ser Barristan arrived with Lady Sansa on his arm and her sworn shield trailing them. Her hold on the old knight tightened briefly as Clegane looked her over from head to foot. He would snap up table scraps from the floor and stop begging for his king’s meal when told, but her sworn shield looked ready to gut the dog for sniffing about his lady’s skirts like that. The boy put a hand to his sword, ready to defend her. Clegane passed them without a word, departing as he had been told, and Ser Jon watched him with an expression icier than the coldest winter wind.

 

“My Lady.”

 

Sansa curtsied to him and gave him the same shy smile she had worn the night before when he invited her to dance with him. She had been a pleasant enough companion, not chattering about silliness all the night, the way Lady Margaery had. She also had not behaved with sullen silence as Princess Arianne had.

 

“Your Grace.”

 

“Ser Barristan, wait at the south entrance for us. See that we aren’t disturbed.”

 

Ser Barristan bowed and departed the moment Lady Sansa transferred her hold to her king’s arm. She smiled at him shyly as her other hand crossed her body to join the first on his arm. That was when he noticed her sworn shield standing like the Titan of Braavos. He turned to Ser Jon, and he knew from the set expression on the boy’s face that he would not accept a dismissal lightly. He was here to protect his lord’s daughter, and he had the northern stubbornness, honor, and sense of duty in him.

 

“You will follow your lady at a distance while I converse privately with her.”

 

The young knight gave no sign of whether he approved of such an order, and Lady Sansa turned her large sapphire like eyes to him. The look caused Ser Jon to heave a sigh, but he nodded to her.

 

“As you command.”

 

He heard that they had bickered with each other, and that he had been in her room for some time afterward alone with raised voices coming from within. He looked between them, wondering for a moment if there was more affection between them than readily was shown. Secret loves with low born knights were the songs in many a young lady’s impractical heart. He would tolerate no funny business from her.

 

Sansa’s hand stroked the red velvet of his tunic lightly as he turned them to walk her through the rows of brilliant flowers. She was rather quiet just as she had been the night before unless he lead the conversation. He was relieved that she did not feel the need to talk of nothingness with him. She seemed to sense that he had some purpose greater in inviting her to this walk than discussing if she had slept well or how she had enjoyed the feast to welcome her to the capital.

 

“Jaime, wait here.”

 

His son nodded, and he took Lady Sansa to the large fountain that was surrounded by rose bushes covered in enormous red blooms. When she gasped at a dozen large butterflies flitting about them, he paused to let her observe them. After a moment, he lead her to a long stone bench and waited for her to be seated before joining her.

 

“Lady Sansa, I brought you here to inform you of some matters directly pertaining to you.”

 

She gave him her full attention then, turning her body toward his and placing her hands delicately in her lap.

 

“Of course, Your Grace.”

 

There was no point in easing into the discussion. He was more informing her of what had already been decided for her fate. He had sent a messenger out to Winterfell with the news shortly after his dance with her. He was certain that her father would want to be present to give his daughter away in the Sept of Baelor when she became queen.

 

“We shall wed some moons from now. Once we wed, you will be crowned queen. This will be announced in court after a moon’s turn. At that time, invitations will be sent to all the great houses in Westeros.”

 

She sat quietly and respectfully listened to him explain all that would happen over the coming days and what role she would be expected to take. She would learn all she needed to be his wife, to be queen.

 

“You will speak of this to no one until the announcement is made. Your schedule will be quite full. I have many duties to attend, such as will prevent me from being able to oversee many of these. As such, my sister, Lady Genna Frey, will be assisting you. Consider carefully which young ladies you would like to have as ladies in waiting. I will need your answer at breakfast the day of the announcement. You will eat dinner with me daily so that I can check on your progress. Ser Jaime will be your escort along with your sworn shield.” His sister tended to get him into trouble. If he had a job to do, he would not have as much time to spend being her puppet. “You’re not to wander about alone, ever. Do you understand?”

 

She nodded her pretty head, “Yes, Your Grace.”

 

She sat with her hands tucked demurely in her lap. She had not smiled or even peeped when he told her that he was giving her a crown.

 

“If you have any questions for me, you may ask them.”

 

Her lip quivered for a moment as if she wanted to say something, but she swallowed it back, looking past him toward where her guard and his son were waiting. Jaime might also be keeping two youths from getting into trouble. It would be worthwhile to have his captain of the guard for the castle assign a few red cloaks to keep watch over them as well, considering that they thought nothing of being in bedrooms together alone. He would not be made a fool or have another man touching his treasures. Jaime would know better than to allow the pair to be alone in those circumstances.

 

Then she spoke quietly to him, making a request.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon had to bite his tongue at the sad look Sansa gave him as she looked over the king’s shoulder. He was not sure what they were discussing, but he was sure Sansa would tell him.

 

“Keep it in your pants, Boy.”

 

Jon turned to the man beside him, Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. He knew why the knight had done as he had. It was well known that Jaime Lannister had been the only white sword in the capital shortly after Robert and Rhaegar killed each other in the waters of the Trident. They said King Aerys went mad with hatred when the news came that Rhaegar had died with Robert. He had an heir who had not been able to defeat his enemy. He said the weakness must be expunged from his bloodline, so he had the Princess of Dorne bring her two children to the throne room. He claimed that if they were truly blood of the dragon, fire would not be able to harm them. Then he forced them to drink wildfire.

 

After her children died, Princess Elia seized one of the jars and drank it herself to join them. Ser Jaime had walked in on the crown prince’s dead family at the foot of the stairs up to the throne and just as the grand maester unintentionally delivered false information to King Aerys II. He believed that Lord Tywin was sacking the city. The king had demanded Ser Jaime bring him the head of his father. Enraged by the deaths of tiny Prince Aegon and sweet Princess Rhaenys and disturbed by the command to kill his father, Ser Jaime had climbed the stairs, yanked the madman from his throne and fed him the steel of his sword.

 

“She belongs to a lion now.”

 

Before he thought too much about what the older man was saying, Sansa stood and walked toward them on the king’s arm.

 

“Ser Jaime, you’ll be escorting Lady Sansa around the Red Keep and the city for the foreseeable future.”

 

The blond knight’s green eyes flashed, but he gave no argument to his father and king. He simply nodded.

 

They walked quietly from the garden without so much as a word passing between Sansa and the king. Jon stared at her back all too aware of the tension in her muscles. This was not what she had dreamed about, but it was her fate. He would ask her as soon as he was able to tell him what had been discussed. He needed to know everything in order to best protect her.

 

King Tywin left Sansa at the stairs to one of the galleries, walking to the grotesque iron throne made from all the melted swords of Aegon the Conqueror’s enemies. He eased down upon it calmly, mindful that some blades still held their edge, even now three hundred years later, and could cause him harm. His fingers fanned out between several as his first petitioner was called forward.


	6. Announcements and Squires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That hurt, that she did not have his love, not yet.

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon looked down at Dreamsong where he had settled on top of the tower. The dragon was growing fast. He was nearing two moons of age, and he was already the size of a small pony. He disappeared often during the main part of the day, fishing in the bay. All the people had become accustomed to seeing him fly among the boats. They even tossed him food from time to time, though he never got close enough for them to touch him.

 

“You’re getting too big for the castle, Dreamsong.”

 

Sansa approached him and rubbed the side of his snout, dipping a hand to scratch the hinge of his jaw. The dragon always arched his neck and raised his wings high with pleasure when she did that.

 

“A dragon needs room to grow, space to fly. He’ll be small forever if he doesn’t.”

 

“He’s going to need somewhere to stay when he outgrows this tower roof.”

 

Dreamsong lifted his head and shot a bright burst of flame into the air, giving his wings a powerful series of flaps before settling down and staring out over Blackwater Bay.

 

“Sansa—”

 

Jon shifted, knowing that he needed to talk to her, but not sure how to say what he needed to say.

 

“I’ll ask the king if the old dragon pit could become a place for you to work on training Dreamsong.” Sansa embraced the dragon’s neck and pressed her cheek along his snout. “You’re such a good dragon.”

 

As she stepped back, Dreamsong rose to his full height and spread his wings. He sent a jet of fire straight up in the air before taking an awkward hop to tip off the tower roof and soar out over the bay. She waved and called her farewell to him and a promise that she would have a special treat for him that evening.

 

“We’d better get to court, my Lady. They’ll be needing you for the announcement.”

 

Just as Father had predicted. She was to be queen, and if the joking rumor he had heard a few men exchanging reached the ears of the king, it would mean nothing but trouble for her—and worse for him.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa’s stomach was tied in a hundred knots as she stared at the heirs to nearly every castle in the kingdoms. She had not been able to pay much attention to the happenings today, filled as her stomach was with nerves.

 

The days that had passed since the king told her that she was to wed him had all gone so quickly. She had collapsed in her bed each night, sleeping before she reclined. There had been parties and meetings and dress fittings and lessons and dinners with the king. Those had been the most nerve racking, the feeling of being judged and appraised.

 

“Sansa, you’ll be a wonderful queen.” Jon bent low and spoke softly enough that only she heard.

 

She looked over at Jon and smiled. She prayed that he was correct. She wanted to please the king, make him happy, but he never seemed to delight in anything. She studied hard to learn what he wished her to know. While she could see approval at her progress, and pride in her well thought out choices for ladies-in-waiting, it was not pleasure in her presence. That hurt, that she did not have his love, not yet.

 

Another petitioner was dismissed, and Sansa’s hands crossed her stomach to still its churning. She stared up at the king. His golden hair was shot through with several streaks of silver, and his green eyes glinted, hard and sharp as emeralds. She would be the worst liar in the seven kingdoms if she claimed that he did not frighten her a little. It was not that she believed he wished to do her harm. He just seemed to have all the warmth of an icy lake’s embrace.

 

“Your mother didn’t know your father all that well when they were wed. They found love.”

 

Sansa nodded. That was true enough. Her mother had been betrothed to Brandon, who had been Lord Rickard Stark’s first born. They both died in this castle, in this room. She shifted her focus away from that. She was not here to witness a trial by combat or be judged by the king for some crime she did not commit. She was no traitor. The king was preparing to announce their engagement.

 

“Lady Sansa, step forward.”

 

Sansa walked down the steps to the main floor of the throne room. Lady Allyria and Lady Margaery smiled at her shyly as she passed through them. Princess Cersei, wife to Prince Oberyn Martell, also smiled, a strange smile like none Sansa had seen on anyone. Still she looked up at the king where he stood in front of the Iron Throne as she stepped past the line of the Kingsguard, though Jon was stopped.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

Tywin stood as he gazed down at the young woman approaching him. She looked sweet as a lamb being brought to slaughter in the white and gray silk dress he had sent to her a few days ago specifically to wear for this occasion. Her hair hung loose except for a crown of braids, and her smile was shy and directed only to him.

 

The memory of Joanna at Casterly Rock, no older than this girl in front of him being called forward flitted across his memory. He had managed to find a way to tell her earlier that they were to be wed, and the announcement would be that. Much as he always hated and distrusted laughter, hers when he told her they were engaged had him hiding a smile in her shoulder and soft golden hair. He had known in that moment that he loved her more than life.

 

“Come closer, my Lady.”

 

Tywin moved closer to her, coming down several steps and offering her his hand. It was a good symbolic gesture; he was elevating her, raising her to be his queen and honoring her family and the North. Beyond that, it was simply proper behavior for civilized society. It would filter down to the commons, and they would praise him for his wisdom and goodness. They were wrong. It was simply being practical, but it mattered very little what the truth was. Appearance was everything.

 

Sansa curtsied sweetly to him as she took his hand.

 

“Lady Sansa of House Stark is my betrothed. Tonight, you’ll all be hosted here to celebrate the impending union between the Lannisters and the Starks.” He raised Sansa’s hand to his lips and kissed the top of her hand. “In six moons, the kingdom will have a queen again. To celebrate, there will be a grand tourney. There will be three events. Archery, sword, and mounted joust. The rewards will suit the occasion.”

 

The prizes were set to fit the grandness of the occasion and that it was being hosted by the crown and the Lannisters. The winner of the sword and joust might even find finer prizes than the reward money, depending on who they were and how they comported themselves. The spectacle of naming men to the Kingsguard would be pleasing to all, especially after they won the love of the people.

 

Tywin looked out at the many faces in the crowd. His daughter looked somewhere between annoyed and enraged. The northern boy sworn to Sansa’s service appeared a strange mixture of brooding, concerned, and suspicious. Concern and suspicion were not at all unusual for him. When Tywin rewarded him for saving Sansa, he had been surprised as much as suspicious. He had also particularly appeared to dislike leaving his lady’s side for any reason—even when a white cloak was with her.

 

Ser Jon was going to have to set it aside, if he was in love with Lady Sansa. It would not be the first time a man loved a woman he would never have. Sansa Stark was meant for more than a marriage to a simple knight. The boy knew his place well enough to know that. That was why someone he trusted kept an eye on them. His first wife had been another man’s obsession. Joanna had been humiliated and savaged after she was yanked from his arms. His second would not be subjected to physical or verbal abuse if he could prevent it.

 

He looked down at the beautiful, young woman whose hand twisted in his to link their fingers. He was not a man to be cuckolded, and he had been told of her closeness to her guard. She sang his praises like a little bird. She often was alone with him. There was a devotion there that could only come from love. If she thought he was some courtly fool who would not notice her love for another being so blinded by his own, she was going to be in tears when her lover lost his head for treason.

 

`⚔` **S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔ ⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔ ⚔**` **S**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **H**` **⚔**` **E**` **⚔**` **M**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**` **I**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**` **G**` **⚔** ` ` **⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**  `` **⚔**` **S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔** `

Edric sat through court, bored almost to tears, but he was determined to ask Ser Jon today. Allyria told him that the knight had been terribly shy during their introduction and at every encounter they had since shared, but his aunt could make even the boldest knight a fool. She and Lady Sansa had spent much time together ever since the beautiful young woman arrived. They were determined to find out the truth, and Allyria had a gentle touch and observant nature.

 

Perhaps it would be easiest to be bold and forthright. It was said the northerners preferred that to having to interpret the meaning and nuance behind a mask of courtesy or veiled threats. Her guard certainly had a watchful eye. He was always at her side when they were at court, and she had often carried the dragon before he grew so large. They were alone often, and Edric had seen the love and devotion in Ser Jon’s eyes for his lady. Everyone had.

 

He heaved a great sigh when the king finally concluded and dismissed court for the next four days. He likely had a dozen different matters to discuss with his Small Council about the upcoming royal marriage. There was also the tourney.

 

“Come, Edric. I’ll introduce you.”

 

His aunt placed her hand on his arm, looking over the crowd of lords and ladies making their way out to whatever afternoon pleasures the capital offered for their indulgence. Fishing. Brothels. Houses of wine and song. Training for some of the young lords under the watchful eyes of the Master at Arms or one of the Kingsguard. Edric enjoyed going to watch them.

 

“Lady Sansa.”

 

The pretty red-haired girl turned at his aunt’s call, and she smiled, reaching a hand out to take Allyria’s.

 

“Lady Allyria, how good it is to see you.”

 

Allyria took her hand, and both girls smiled while Edric peeked around his aunt’s back.

 

“I wanted to introduce you to the Lord of Starfall, my nephew, Edric Dayne.” Edric’s cheek’s turned pink as Allyria stepped aside, placing a hand behind his shoulders to nudge him forward. “He’s growing into a fine young lord, the kind that would make the old kings of the Torentine proud.”

 

“My Lady.”

 

He was barely able to mumble the words through his general shyness as he took her hand. He kissed it as he bowed. Allyria told him of how dearly Lady Sansa enjoyed courtly manners and chivalry, cherished it almost as much as their house did. Only a true knight, a man who lived and breathed the role in his heart as much as with his hands would ever be worthy of wielding Dawn, and Edric prayed to the seven that he would be. The story told that the wielder of Dawn gained the strength of ten men in battle.

 

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Lord Edric. Your house is one that I’ve never heard spoken of but that they say it is the most honorable and excellent.”

 

“It’s an honor, Lady Sansa.” Edric stared down at his feet as his aunt and Lady Sansa exchanged more pleasantries.

 

“You’re too sweet, my Lady. I must confess that we wish to ask a great favor of you and your Ser Jon.”

 

“Please never hesitate to ask me anything, Lady Allyria. We’re such good friends.”

 

“Yes.” Allyria smiled, looping her arm not attached to Edric’s through the northern girl’s. “Perhaps we might take a walk to discuss it.”

 

“That sounds very agreeable. It will be pleasant after so long at court.”

 

Allyria lead their small party that Edric could not help noticing contained a kingsguard at a gentle, almost leisurely pace through the castle. The ringing sound of steel striking steel from the training yard had Edric perking up and glancing toward Ser Jon. He had heard about the prowess of Lady Sansa’s sworn sword, but he had yet to see him in practice or truth.

 

“I’ve always been told the grandest stories of the prowess of northern warriors.”

 

“The stories of the great knights and lords of your house are no less grand. The Swords of the Morning are the envy of every young lord in Westeros. My father—” Lady Sansa’s voice cut off abruptly as though she thought better of what she had been able to say. “After all, of the Seven Kingdoms, only Dorne was able to resist the dragons of the Targaryens, killed one even. The Daynes played a great role in that from all I’ve heard. Lord Joffrey Dayne led an army to Oldtown and drove them out. No one in Westeros would doubt the courage, strength, and honor of House Dayne.”

 

“I thank you for your compliments.” Allyria drew Sansa down to sit beside her while the men who had been training became rather quiet for a moment before they began fighting with renewed effort.

 

Edric chanced a glance at Ser Jon and bit the back of his lower lip. Allyria seemed to have his request well in hand, but he wanted to observe the face of the knight for whom he wished to squire as he was asked.

 

“I was hoping that Ser Jon would be willing to take my nephew as his squire, my Lady.”

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa smiled quite brightly at the request, and she glanced up at her older brother. It was another honor for Jon. She had heard nothing about him taking a squire, though she had asked only once when he intended to find a suitable boy to teach.

 

“Every knight needs a squire. One makes a knight seem more prestigious. With the stories of Ser Jon’s honor and bravery, he’ll have his choice of squires.”

 

“It’s all happened so quickly. He’s only been a knight what seems a few short days.”

 

She turned to him and saw that he was paying more attention to the men training than their conversation. She knew that he would not be comfortable as soon as the question was asked, and that it was not really for her to say whom he took to squire, despite being his lady.

 

“You’re right. He ought to have a squire.”

 

That brought his attention down to her quickly enough. His eyes showed a slight alarm, not too terribly dissimilar from the way he had looked when she insisted that he dance with her.

 

“Sansa!” It came out as a stern whisper.

 

“Ser.”

 

He shushed at her reminder that she was his lady, and she smiled her sweetest smile at him as she held in a laugh. She would hear his lecture later when they were in private, but until then, he would keep respectfully to his place as her obedient and protective servant.

 

Jon set his jaw forward and looked away from her.

 

“Daynes have been knights for centuries. They’ve always started out much the same as any destined to kneel and speak vows in the rainbow light of the Seven or before a heart tree. Edric is ready to become the squire of a fine knight, and we both feel that your Ser Jon is one of the finest we’ve seen since our arrival in King’s Landing.”

 

Sansa had to hold back her pleasure at this. Not only having a squire—but one from an ancient and noble house. Their father had never spoken anything but praise for Ser Arthur, the last Sword of the Morning. Perhaps Jon would train the next.

 

“Is this your wish, Lord Dayne?”

 

Handsome, young Lord Edric looked up at her and pushed his silvery blonde hair from his face. He moved to stand in front of her.

 

“Very much, Lady Sansa.”

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon’s stomach twisted in discomfort at this. The decision to take a squire was for a knight to make, not his lady. How did he take a train a boy to do things he was still learning himself?

 

“My Lady, I doubt I’m ready for a squire.”

 

“Please, Ser, allow me to serve you. I’ll be a good squire. I’ll tend your horse and keep your armor clean. I’ll do every task you require of me.”

 

Jon stared at the earnest expression directed at him from the young lord. He was a bastard born boy who had become a knight by happenstance. He had been lucky that his father thought enough of him to take him to Winterfell. He was blessed that his father had seen to have him trained with a sword beside his true-born brother. He had been knighted for actions taken in anger and fear. He still felt that rage when he imagined his sister being threatened, the desire to watch any who would harm her burn. How did he turn down a high lord, even one younger than him? He was meant to be honorable and controlled, but he needed to master himself before he could begin training another.

 

“Lord Dayne, you could squire for any knight—” Jon paused as he watched the little lord set his jaw forward. “You deserve to be the squire of a nobler knight. I didn’t—”

 

Jon cut off at the two ladies and lordling watching him. He had done nothing spectacular, nothing deserving his dubbing, nothing beyond the duty he had sworn to do.

 

“King Aegon V squired for Ser Duncan the Tall, and he was only a hedge knight. They traveled all over Westeros and even across the Narrow Sea together.” Lord Edric scuffed his boots on the rough stone for a moment.

 

Jon knew that look. It was the look that expressed the way he felt every time his father had taken Robb aside and talked to him about becoming Warden of the North and ruling Winterfell when his time came.

 

“Ser Duncan the Tall was a nobody from Flea Bottom, and he became the greatest of knights. He was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He helped Aegon when Lord Lionel Baratheon rebelled and defeated the Laughing Storm.”

 

Jon smiled a little sadly at Lord Dayne. Ser Duncan the Tall also met the same fate as Aegon when Summerhall burned, though he saved Prince Aegon, the heir to the throne just barely born. There were so many stories about the pair of them. The story he had been told by Uncle Benjen, who had heard tales from every corner of Westeros by all the men at the Wall, was that Aegon had tricked and bullied Ser Duncan into making him his squire. That was after Ser Duncan’s trial by seven at the Ashford Tourney, the last trial by seven in Westeros, and it had cost the lives of many good men.

 

“Why me, my Lord?”

 

The bright violet eyes looked up at him steadily.

 

“When you were attacked on the road to King’s Landing, they say you had a man throw down his weapon and run.”

 

Jon remembered. The dream he had had the night before, of the way a dragon burned all those who attacked the lovely silver wolf. He remembered thinking about it, imagining all the ways he would avenge his sister if she had been injured by those outlaws when he caught that man. He also knew it was his duty to find Sansa and keep her safe. There was no honor in riding down a man who had no way to fight back, a man who had all but said _yield_.

 

“My uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne—they say he never cut down an unarmed man either. Not even the Smiling Knight.” Lord Dayne stood up a little straighter, and he looked right into Jon’s eyes. “I want to serve a man who always strives to keep his vows and deserves the title of a knight, even before the vows were made.”

 

Jon had to fight his blush at this praise. He had never sought to do anything but what he believed was right, and he was being compared to the most puissant warrior the Seven Kingdoms had known in a century. His father always praised the Sword of the Morning more than any other man, despite the sadness in him on the rare occasions that he spoke of Ser Arthur Dayne. Jon would guess that his father dreamed of being Ser Arthur as a boy.

 

“Ser.” Sansa’s voice was soft and gentle.

 

“Alright.” Jon smiled a very small smile as Lord Dayne’s eyes lit up, and the boy almost bounced with excitement. “Will you swear to protect Lady Sansa against all who would do her harm?”

 

“I will, for as long as I serve you, Ser.”

 

Jon nodded at the answer, not quite what he had wanted, but it would have to do. And he supposed that it would not be the simplest oath for him to uphold after he was a man returned to Starfall in the heart of Dorne. He was promising what he could fulfill and no more.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

Tywin sat back in his chair after dismissing his Small Counsel. Grand Maester Pycell had delivered grim news from the Vale. Jon Arryn, Warden of the East and Lord of the Eyrie, had been a healthy man. His passing from life so quickly was something worthy of further investigation. It was as likely to be natural as it was foul play, and his brother had shared his suspicions.

 

Lord Robert Arryn was a boy and said to be of a somewhat sickly constitution. It was also known that Lady Lysa was not a well woman. The boy should be brought to the Red Keep to serve as cupbearer to him, and then as a squire to a suitable knight. It was an honor that could not be refused, and it was a simple solution to an issue that might anger and divide the Vale. His messenger had already been sent to the Vale with the orders for Lord Robert.

 

At least with the wedding mostly planned prior to Lady Sansa’s arrival. It was only a future event. He would go to the Sept of Baelor, make his vows, be seen in the streets with his new wife, feast, have his wedding night, and endure the tourney to find two new kingsguards. He would put a child in her, and she would give him an heir, a proper heir to the Iron Throne.


	7. Plots and Machinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the happiness from earlier that day fled as her entire being cringed with fear. She had heard that story, and it had made her heart beat faster with fear the first time. She had not wanted to believe such an ugly story.

`⚔` **S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔ ⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔ ⚔**` **S**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **H**` **⚔**` **E**` **⚔**` **M**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**` **I**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**` **G**` **⚔** ` ` **⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**  `` **⚔**` **S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔** `

Edric waited quietly in the shadows as the voices came closer to him. He recognized the Dornish accent and deep voice of Prince Oberyn, and the words coming from the prince were enough to put a chill in his bones.

 

He was sworn to serve House Martell, but he could not imagine that Prince Doran would support a plan that killed the king and an innocent girl from the north, to participate in a plot like this against them. It was true that they, the Martells, were blood of the dragon. Perhaps they were better suited in terms of bloodline to rule, but the people had not wanted them. They wanted the man who had come to the city to protect them, the man who protected them so long from the Mad King. When vast stores of wildfire began being removed from vaults all around King’s Landing, half a million people realized how close to death they had been and all they wanted was for someone they knew to rule well to stay.

 

He pressed as far back into the shadowy alcove as he could get when the Red Viper of Dorne walked past with one of the castle servants. The young man gasped as the prince pushed him up against the wall to nuzzle his neck. He promised to do the prince’s bidding that night, to poison the king, the minute Oberyn’s lips began gliding up and down his neck.

 

Edric closed his eyes, praying to the seven that he would not be noticed. He ignored the rustling of clothes and the gasps and soft whimpers for the prince not to stop. He had a decision to make, and he planned not to get bitten before he had the chance to make it.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa rubbed the soft bristle brush in gentle circles around on the beautiful pearly dragon scales. She told him quietly what a good dragon he was, how he was going to be the prettiest, finest, strongest dragon anywhere. The fact that Dreamsong was the only dragon in the world was irrelevant.

 

She glanced toward Jon where he was setting up different targets. He was determined to begin teaching his dragon to fight and control his blasts of fire.

 

“This’ll be another good place for him. He’ll be able to breathe fire here without worrying about hurting anyone.”

 

Sansa smiled as she packed away the brush as Dreamsong dipped his head down to get his snout stroked by Jon’s quiet hands.

 

“Yes, the king has declared that only you and I are to permitted to come here now.”

 

“We should be getting back, Sansa.”

 

He nodded, taking her hand to help her over the uneven ground.

 

“When do you think he’ll be big enough to ride? He’s grown so much.” She stepped into the cup of Jon’s hands for him to help her into Buttercup’s saddle.

 

“Not sure. But he’s growing quickly enough. I think it’ll be soon.”

 

They left at a brisk trot and traveled comfortably until they got to the city gates. Everyone smiled at them as they rode through the city. As tales spread from their travels, he had become quite a favorite.

 

He only distinguished himself further when they had been out in the city shortly after their arrival to buy fabric for her maiden cloak. A few children somehow raised the ire of a lesser lord while at play, and the lord had intended to take his anger out on them. Jon had taken a harsh blow intended for a young boy, knocked the lord unconscious, and taken him to the king for justice. The young man, a Webber, had been sentenced to three days in the stocks to better learn to control his temper, and Jon’s fame grew like his dragon.

 

“How are you going to ride a dragon?”

 

Jon gave her one of his rare smiles, that had grown only more sparse in the past weeks. It made her want to stay closer to him. She promised her father that she would trust Jon’s judgment. She only prayed that he knew he could not go through life trusting only the people he grew up with. They needed friends.

 

“I suppose I won’t find out till I ride a dragon. I’ve looked through the whole of the Red Keep’s library, and there’s plenty of information about dragons. Just nothing about how to ride them, tame them, train them.”

 

Sansa glanced over him, wondering for the hundredth time that day when things between her and the king would improve. As it stood, they shared dinner each night. They sat apart from the others, but in full view. He quizzed her knowledge of all manner of things—from the sigils surrounding them to house histories and oaths of loyalty. When she asked him questions about his day, he always answered so coldly that he had been attending to matters of ruling. She had become so discouraged that she had stopped asking. She wished to know him, give him some kind of pleasure, but very little seemed to please him. She had taken asking others about him.

 

The ladies of the West were eager to share the stories they grew up hearing about the Great Lion. Some of them chilled Sansa to the core. They spoke of how he brought down a castle to crush it’s inhabitants and drowned a second. They said he was fearless, and Sansa could not help agreeing after every story she ehard. She had never seen a flicker of fear or anger in him since they arrived.

 

Those tales were frightening enough. She wished to ask him why. Why it had been done. The rebellions her family had had to stop with the Boltons had risen against them generations ago—they had always been quelled and the family forgiven. Why had the Reynes and Tarbecks needed to be destroyed?

 

She left her horse with a stable boy, and Jon passed the reins of his to his squire.

 

“Jon, if you’d like to practice in the training yard, you should. I’m sure Ser Barristan or Ser Jaime will be with me soon.” She smiled reassuringly at him.

 

She would just be joining some other ladies to work on sewing her maiden’s cloak. She had wanted the cloak she wore for her wedding to be her own work, and she had convinced the king of the importance of that. She still did not entirely understand how it happened. When she had asked, he had stared calmly and impassively at her as she explained it was a northern tradition and that her mother would know her work from others. He had said that he would see an example of her work to determine if she required assistance. She had pointed to Jon’s cloak with its dragon and shooting star, telling him that it was all done by her hand, and his brow had raised. He had to have felt something in that moment before he told her that it was fine work, but that she would accept help with adding the pearls. He also told her that he expected to see the cloak when she was finished to ensure it was appropriate for the occasion.

 

“Are you sure, my Lady?”

 

Sansa nodded, squeezing his hand. She knew her way around the Red Keep quite well now. She hardly needed Ser Jaime to take her where she wanted to go, but as future queen, she supposed she must accustom herself to it. And it was both generous and proper for her to have the most puissant warriors as her protectors.

 

“Please, Jon. I know you want to go. And you promised Bran that you would ask the kingsguard to train with you.”

 

“Just a couple hours. I’ll be there to walk you to dinner.”

 

Sansa nodded and curtsied to Jon before departing quietly. She crossed the bridge into Maegor’s Holdfast in high spirits. She loved the time she spent with her brother, but she never felt comfortable or confident on a horse. In the company of the high born ladies of the court, with her good manners and well learned courtesies, she felt she had her place.

 

The voices cut through her thoughts and stopped her in her approach to where the other women were visiting.

 

“It’s so romantic.”

 

“It is. Ser Jon clearly loves Lady Sansa.”

 

“It’s just like a story.”

 

“Just as romantic as Prince Aemon and Queen Naerys.”

 

Sansa almost giggled, thinking about it. They did not know how right they were. Jon was her brother just as much as Prince Aemon had been the queen’s all those years ago. Jon even enjoyed playing the role of Prince Aemon when they had been children. He was a knight, and he had a dragon.

 

An ugly voice cut through the delighted giggles of the younger girls Sansa had been befriending.

 

“I’m sure my father will find it just as amusing as you. Don’t you worry. He knows how to punish a whore. The last one to cross him was stripped and whipped through the streets of Lannisport while she told everyone she met that she was a whore. To punish another for his foolishness with whores, he—”

 

All the happiness from earlier that day fled as her entire being cringed with fear. She had heard that story, and it had made her heart beat faster with fear the first time. She had not wanted to believe such an ugly story. It was back when the king was just a lord claiming his inheritance, Casterly Rock and the West, the richest of the kingdoms. Lord Tytos had kept a mistress, the nurse to his youngest son or someone similar. He had hated the woman so much for her laughter that he had to punish her for he so distrusted laughter and smiles.

 

Sansa did not dare enter the room. She covered her mouth, backing away slowly. She turned and ran to her room, bolting the door behind her, praying that the images that horrible story stirred in her mind. She was to sup with the king tonight as always, and she did not know how she dared look at a man who did such things.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon wondered for the hundredth time since he left Sansa if he was making the best decision. When he agreed to her suggestion, he had been thinking more about the rumors Edric had told him about and that he needed to think of silencing those as much as protecting Sansa from swords and daggers. Of course, they were partly true. She was his sister, and he loved her as dearly as any of his other siblings. Perhaps distancing himself from her to a degree that did not endanger her physical safety was best for now. It might give people a better understanding of his relationship with her, correct their misconceptions. The only concern he had was whether they would look more suspicious taking these actions.

 

The weight of the blunted sword felt good in his hand, and the padded armor was thick enough to offer protection. The ringing of steel on steel, the grunts of men, the smell of sweat, light glinting off the metal.

 

Excitement raced through his limbs when he saw the man in blue. He had heard about him from all the castle’s men-at-arms. The Blue Knight was what most of the castle was calling him. According to the word going around, he had defeated everyone who challenged him. Jon had not been able to even meet him yet. He showed up at random times in the training yard, and Jon was so often with Sansa as her guard or with Dreamsong as he was in need of training. The sparse moments he found to visit the training yard to practice for his duties, the Blue Knight had been elsewhere.

 

Now, the Blue Knight was moving around slowly with Ser Loras standing opposite him. Each blow the third son of Lord Tyrell aimed at the skilled fighter was deflected or dodged; sometimes it was outright countered. A sudden, sharp blow from Ser Loras’s sword snapped the blade of the Blue Knight. The hilt was so instantly discarded that Jon almost missed it. The Blue Knight lunged forward, half dodging a swing from Ser Loras to take a glancing blow on the shoulder before he knocked the smaller man to the ground and placed a small dagger at the young man’s throat. Ser Loras yielded, accepting the hand of his opponent to help him to his feet. A few men in the green and gold of Highgarden hid laughter behind their hands as their lord’s son glared softly.

 

The Blue Knight gathered up the pieces of the broken blade and walked to a table at the edge of the training yard. Spotting his opportunity, Jon walked over quietly.

 

He searched for the right words to ask the man to spar with him. He had wanted to meet him for some time, and he had never seen some of the moves he had done. The boldness of tackling Ser Loras was something Jon did not know if he would have come up with. He could learn from him.

 

Sansa would know the perfect words. She so often seemed to.

 

He stepped forward. Anyone with the daring to all out tackle someone to the ground would favor the audacity of a man who would straight up ask for what he wanted.

 

“Pardons, Ser.”

 

The armored man turned to him but did not raise his visor. Through the view slit, Jon saw a pair of eyes almost as blue as the armor protecting the him.

 

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to spar with me.”

 

Jon felt like the luckiest man in the yard when the other nodded. Curiosity teased him as the tall man picked up another tourney blade. They found a space, and they began.

 

`⚔` **S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔ ⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔ ⚔**` **S**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **H**` **⚔**` **E**` **⚔**` **M**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**` **I**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**` **G**` **⚔** ` ` **⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**  `` **⚔**` **S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔** `

`  
`

Edric shifted about nervously as he watched the fight between Ser Jon and the Blue Knight. They were quite evenly matched, and most of the yard had gone silent to watch them swing and parry and dance around each other.

 

He wished he could focus better on the fight, but the words of Prince Oberyn troubled him and left his stomach ill. He had to be true. He wanted to be an honorable man. He wanted to be worthy of the ancestral blade of his house, Dawn. He remembered the brightness of the blade, the way it seemed alive with light where it hung above a mantle in Starfall’s great hall, waiting for the next Sword of the Morning to rise. Even in the late evening, on the darkest nights, whenever Edric had sneaked out of bed, long after the fires had died, Dawn was alive with a silvery light. It was the memory of that light that had sent one of the knights sworn to House Dayne to take the would-be assassin captive.

 

Ser Jon’s voice called him from the glowing image of the sword he longed so dearly to earn. Dawn had hung for many generations between wielders. What the Dornish prince was planning—it went against his vows. If he succeeded in killing the king, who knew what his wife might try to do to the woman who married her father, tried to take a crown and throne from her. He had promised to protect Lady Sansa. She was the reason he was now squire to a good knight. She was Aunt Allyria’s close friend, and she might be able to tell them the fate of the baby Lord Stark took from Dorne, if the child was alive, if he was Edric’s cousin.

 

“Ser Jon.”

 

“Ned, what is it?”

 

Edric handed Jon a cup of water. He gazed directly into the solemn gray eyes of the knight he served.

 

“I heard something today, and you need to know, Ser.”

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

It took all Jon’s willpower not to panic. He forced himself to walk calmly through the halls of the Red Keep. The chances of alerting the conspirators was too great a risk if he let his fears control him. He did not need any extra attention.

 

Edric had departed quickly after telling him what he had overheard. He sent him to keep an eye on the kitchen boy, to make sure that they did all they could to stop this.

 

He took deep, calming breaths as he pushed open the door of one of the larger solars. It was the one where Sansa had been so often with highborn ladies working on the preparations for the royal wedding. More than a dozen young women are seated inside, and they all smile sweetly at him.

 

“Hello, Ser Jon.” One of the Tyrell girls, Megga, smiled at him.

 

“Ladies.” He watched them all. “I was looking for my Lady.”

 

“She’s not here, Ser.” Lady Allyria stood up and looked directly into his eyes. “She sent word that she wasn’t feeling well and was going to rest this afternoon.”

 

Jon bit the tip of his tongue. She had been in high spirits and very happy when she left him.

 

“If you’ll excuse me, Ladies.”

 

“Please, Ser. If you’ll escort me, I would like to check on Lady Sansa as well. She may need me to make her excuses to the king this evening.”

 

Jon nodded, offering Allyria his arm. It would be rude to do anything less, and Allyria was kind to Sansa if a little strange and secretive. Sansa spoke of their conversations often, said Allyria enjoyed hearing stories of the north. She thought the Dornish girl might have taken a strong liking to Robb. Robb had noticed her, too, but he spent more of his time with one of Sansa’s other ladies, Lady Jeyne Westerling. He had spotted them walking together several times.

 

She was quiet as they walked through the halls and crossed the dry moat that took them into Maegor’s Holdfast.

 

Jon raised his hand and knocked on the door to Sansa’s room.

 

“Who is it?” Sansa’s voice cracked as she called to them.

 

“Sansa, are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine. I just need to rest.”

 

“Sansa.”

 

“Jon, it’s lady problems. I’ll be fine.”

 

Jon backed away from the door. Probably—it was that. Even so, she had seemed so happy when she left him, and now she sounded as if she had been crying.

 

“My Lady, may I come in? You shouldn’t be alone.”

 

It took Sansa a long time to answer, but once she agreed to Allyria’s company, Jon felt he could breathe again. Still, he took Allyria’s hand before she opened the door and pulled her into the shadows away from the wall sconce.

 

“Lady Allyria, I—forgive me.” He pulled her close, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

Tywin stared at the young man sworn to the service of Lady Sansa, the young man who had hatched the first dragon in more than a hundred years.

 

What he was saying was not so shocking. It was not a surprise that his daughter’s husband wanted to kill him. It was not even a surprise that poison was the way he meant to strike. He had studied poisons extensively in his travels to the free cities, and he had never bothered to hide his interest in the craft after he returned. He spent months in Old Town learning with the maesters at the Citadel.

 

The agreements that had been reached with Prince Doran had never made his younger brother happy, and the man had never forgiven him for the death of Elia. It had not been his fault that a fire broke out in Flea Bottom. It had not been his fault that the king questioned the death of his son, believed himself the only dragon left. It had not been his fault that he arrived too late to save Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys from being forced to drink wildfire. Still Prince Oberyn blamed him for it, just as his daughter blamed him for her unhappy marriage to the Dornish prince. Neither of them ever tried to have happiness.

 

“You said that your squire was watching the young man in collusion with Prince Oberyn.”

 

“Yes, Your Grace. And he told me that one of his guards has been watching him all day.”

 

Taking down Prince Oberyn would not be easy. He was married to a Lannister. That did not make Tywin any happier than his sister’s marriage to a Frey had, but he had done what was necessary at that time. If the Dornishman was directly confronted, he would likely ask for trial by combat. Tywin would not allow his family to look foolish.


	8. Facing a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tucked her knees to her chest in a way she had not done since she was a little girl. Of course, it was true. The worst stories had a way of being more true than she would like lately, and the king barely spoke to her. How was she to know the man she was marrying?

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa sat curled up on her bed with her closest companion in the capital. The fear that Princess Cersei’s words had placed in her heart would keep her here the night she was sure. She must send her apologies to the king, let him know that she was ill this evening and would take dinner in her room. What would he think if he had heard such things about her? What would he do to Jon?

 

“My Lady, what troubles you?”

 

Sansa glanced at her, pinching her lips between her teeth. She did not know that she dared to repeat the story she had heard. Jon had cautioned her against trusting so easily in any case. Still, Allyria may know stories about the king that Sansa had yet to hear.

 

She had heard the ones about his wife, the Lady Joanna. They said she was the only person to ever make him smile. They said that during Lord Tywin’s time as Hand of the King, he had ruled the Seven Kingdoms more than the king, but that his lady wife ruled him. She had heard such stories of Lady Joanna, a woman who died so young in the childbed. They talked of her beauty, kindness, and gentle nature. They spoke of the king’s first wife only in whispers, and they said that he still loved her, so dearly that he would not have contemplated marriage again were it not that he needed an heir.

 

Sansa had hoped for more in her marriage than a political union, more than being a mother, though she longed to hold a babe as she had seen her mother hold her sister Arya and her brother Bran. She knew that love to be the greatest she had ever seen, and she would love her little blond babies from the king just as dearly. Even if the king could not love her, though the tales of Lady Joanna told her he had known and felt love, surely he would love their children. She had seen the way he looked at Ser Jaime when the white knight was preoccupied. Ser Jaime was more precious to him than any other; of that, Sansa was certain. Just as she was certain that he did not tell his son this. If he loved the children she gave him, that would be enough. She would make that be enough.

 

She had not heard the tales about a whore whipped through the streets of Lannisport, and apparently there was another story about a whore. She had heard the stories about the Reynes and the Castameres. That was how he dealt with people who displeased him. He seemed to feel so little that the only emotion Sansa was sure of from him was pride. If he believed the stories of Jon and her—of them being in love—surely Father had not considered this possibility. Surely, just telling the world outside Winterfell that Jon was her brother would be enough to silence the rumors that might kill them all.

 

“Tell me. Do you know about the king and the whore of Lannisport?”

 

“Why do you want to hear that?”

 

Sansa tucked her knees to her chest in a way she had not done since she was a little girl. Of course, it was true. The worst stories had a way of being more true than she would like lately, and the king barely spoke to her. How was she to know the man she was marrying? She needed to know because her brother’s life might hang in the balance. She had promised him things as he had sworn to her. They had to look out for each other. They were not lone wolves; they were a pack. If winter was coming, and her father assured them every day that the words of their house always came to fruition, the pack survived when the lone wolf died.

 

“Please, tell me.”

 

Sansa chewed the back of her lip, unsure what to do or say. She was grateful for Allyria’s company. They were friends. She just could not shake the feelings of concern and fear after the conversation she had heard.

 

“I don’t know the whole story, my Lady, only that he marched a whore through the streets for crimes against his family. I don’t want to fill your head with unnecessary fears. I’m sure some girls from the Westerlands could tell you more.”

 

Sansa was not so sure, and she did not have the courage to face the king, not after what she heard. The what ifs were compounding horribly. He was the king. He had been a good king for many years, and helped the Mad King rule for many more. Westeros had prospered under his leadership. Still, he had a temper—and Sansa did not want to be the one to cause him anger.

 

She could not imagine the humiliation that poor woman had suffered. If he wanted to do that to her, she was sure that her father would not allow it. He loved her. The North would come down screaming to the capital as Uncle Brandon had come to face the Mad King after Prince Rhaegar had run away with her aunt. And Tywin Lannister would win. He had won every war he ever fought, and now he sat on the Iron Throne, king.

 

What would he do to Jon? She did not think she would be able to live, watching her family suffer.

 

“Please, go to dinner, Lady Allyria, and please make my excuses to the king. I’m unwell.”

 

Allyria nodded and reminded her that Ser Barristan would be there soon to guard her for the night.

 

Sansa settled back on her bed, pressing into the pillows. She fell asleep quickly.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

Tywin tapped his fingers as he stared at the kitchen boy Ser Jon and Lord Dayne had delivered to him before they were dismissed back to Lady Sansa’s side. The grand maester had confirmed that there was poison in his personal pitcher, and the kitchen boy had confessed the plot instantly, implicating the Dornish prince.

 

Jaime’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword. His son was ready for blood. Still as hot-headed and impulsive as ever, but neither he nor Tywin had even seen the Red Viper of Dorne in a fight. The Dornishman had a reputation that crossed the Marches and the Reach to be whispered as far north as Winterfell, and that he had traveled, Tywin knew from his daughter. More than one enemy of the Martells had succumbed to poison.

 

“A quick death.”

 

“No, Your Grace, please. Mercy.”

 

Jaime did not have to be told twice. He grabbed the boy’s arm and dragged him out.

 

He stood up and quietly made his way to the great hall for dinner. He would not let Prince Oberyn frighten him into being absent. He would even invite the Red Viper to share the table with him. With two of his kingsguard flanking him, he walked quickly through the halls.

 

“Your Grace.”

 

Swords were out and in hand before the king had turned to see who addressed him. It was only natural that the kingsguard would be on alert after just stopping an assassin who would come at him with the weapon of a woman or a eunuch.

 

Lady Allria Dayne curtsied beautifully, not as prettily as Lady Sansa, but she was the closest companion of his betrothed. She was seldom out of the other girl’s company, except when visiting the dragon with Ser Jon. His bride-to-be was far too sweet on the flying, fire-breathing lizard. Still it was better that the most dangerous creature in the seven kingdoms have more than one person to be fond of.

 

“Sheath your blades. The Daynes are loyal to the crown.”

 

Lady Allyria curtsied to him again.

 

“Lady Sansa isn’t feeling well this evening, Your Grace. She begs me send her apologies.”

 

“Does she require a maester?”

 

“I don’t believe so, Your Grace.”

 

Tywin watched the girl coldly, as he did most things. He wished Sansa at his side, particularly with such snakes lurking in the castle. Now, after Ser Jon had saved his life, she was hiding in her room. The boy was loyal if nothing else, though whether he had shared this plot to save Tywin or to save his lady love remained to be seen. He was in the boy’s debt, a life debt. And a life is what Ser Jon would have to lose if he made a foolish mistake.

 

They said Lady Sansa loved her knight, and Tywin would be a fool if he did not see it. He would also be a fool if he believed that she had had any real opportunity to act on certain feelings here or before. A kingsguard had scarcely been out of her presence. She had had no opportunities for mischief. She knew that her uncle and grandfather had died for defying a king. He would be madder and stupider if he hurt her.

 

“You’re dismissed. Go see to the future queen.”

 

Lady Allyria left quickly, and once she was gone, Tywin turned back to the main event of the evening. It might be for the best that Sansa did not witness the coming death. Prince Oberyn would tragically drink some bad wine and succumb to his fate. He would summon the young woman to him later that evening to see that she was alright.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon stood outside Sansa’s room after the king dismissed him. The man had not uttered one word of gratitude, though Jon was sure that he would pay whatever debt he imagined he owed Jon.

 

The king seemed to understand duty in a way no man Jon had ever seen before did, but of honor, the man seemed lamentably ignorant. And love, Jon had heard the stories. Sansa had gone hunting for them as soon as she was informed of her betrothal. She dreamed of nothing but a happy, love-filled marriage, and Jon longed to see the faces of the Old Gods to pray that her hopes and dreams be answered, but there were no weirwood trees for miles and miles. The Old Gods could not see them here.

 

Jon remembered seeing Ser Jaime’s reaction to one of them—a mixture of hurt and annoyance that had left the man sullen and taciturn for days. Jon had not been sure if it was because Sansa had not asked him, or if it was because the memory of his mother made the man sad even after all these years.

 

Allyria had come out several hours earlier, told him that Sansa was not feeling well and wished to rest. She was going to make her excuses to the king at dinner. He had not shared what he knew of the business at hand and she had refused to tell him what was bothering Sansa.

 

He jerked a bit at the clanking sound of a man in armor approaching. Jon yanked the small dagger from his belt, easing into the shadows near his door, just down the way from Sansa’s. Her door was locked. If the man coming intended her harm, it would be better to get the jump on him.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

“Jon!” Sansa cried out as she woke. “Jon!”

 

Someone was in her room. She had woken to the sound of the latch being undone, and no one but she had a key.

 

“It’s alright, my Lady. It’s al—” Ser Barristan’s voice cut off abruptly.

 

“I’m here, Sansa.”

 

She collapsed back on the bed, tugging the blanket up over herself, certain that the king had summoned her to answer for wrongs she had never committed. Moonlight streamed in through her window, and she heard the shuffling footsteps of two men as they moved where she could see them.

 

Jon held a thin dagger against Ser Barristan’s neck.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Sansa managed a weak nod to Jon.

 

“What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

 

“The king has summoned Lady Sansa.”

 

Sansa trembled in her bed. What would she do if the king wanted to punish her?

 

“Jon?”

 

“I’ll be going with you, my Lady.”

 

“You can let Ser Barristan go. I need to get dressed.”

 

She would go to the king a Stark of Winterfell. She would be sure that he knew who she was. She would not let him doubt. Her father had led an army with Lord Robert and Lord Jon Arryn against the former king after her grandfather and uncle had been killed.

 

Yet, he sat on the throne. The king was a smart man, and he had intelligent advisors. Would he be able to destroy Winterfell? Would he be able to somehow reach the Eyrie? They would die, and it would be Sansa who killed them. She had to show him that she was loyal to him, that she would not dishonor him.

 

She sucked in a few deep breaths as Jon escorted the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard from her chamber. She rose quickly from her bed and dressed in the gorgeous gray silk dress the king had given her upon her arrival in King’s Landing. Then she draped the lovely gold chain with a ruby that filled her palm around her neck so it sat on her chest. This had been his gift to her after announcing their engagement. She was a Stark of Winterfell, and she wore only what the king had given her. Surely, he would understand that she was telling him that she knew she belonged to him, that she would not betray him.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

“Enter.” Tywin called the moment there was a knock on the door.

 

“Your Grace.” Ser Barristan bowed to him. “Lady Sansa of House Stark.”

 

Tywin felt his breath catch a little bit, in a way he had not felt since he was married in the Sept of Baelor. When Joanna had appeared before him, he had not been able to breathe; she had been so beautiful and so perfect. And she had been his, all his forever. This beautiful young woman would be his soon enough. His eyes slid over her lovely, slender frame, pausing once upon her bosom where the ruby necklace given to her to mark her betrothal to the most powerful man in the kingdoms glinted in the candles. The cut of the gown he had had made for her suited her body perfectly.

 

He slid his fingers in dismissal to Ser Barristan. That was when he noticed that Ser Jon had accompanied his lady. Ser Barristan motioned to the door, and the young man looked rebellious at the idea of leaving his lady alone with her betrothed.

 

“Wait outside. We have matters to discuss that are not for the ears of any others.”

 

“I’ll be right outside if you need me, my Lady.”

 

The message was not lost on Tywin. The boy was clearly telling him that he obeyed Sansa first.

 

“Thank you, Jon.”

 

As soon as the boy was gone, Sansa approached him gracefully. She seemed to float. He was a lucky man to be marrying the most beautiful woman in Westeros. This union would unite the kingdoms, make an unbreakable bond between the Lannisters and the Starks and the Tullys and the Arryns.

 

She moved to her knees in front of him, bowing her head. A droplet of water landing on the floor in front of caught his attention first, then another and another. She was crying.

 

“Lady Sansa.”

 

“Your Grace, please—” Sansa’s voice trembled, and her breasts heaved. “It’s not true. Please. It’s not true.”

 

Tywin reached out, gently taking her cheek in his palm. She was surely accustomed to physical comfort. He rubbed a thumb over it, wiping away the paths of the tears. His fingers dipped behind her neck, cupping it and drawing her forward as he spread his knees. It was hardly seemly, but they had no audience. And she would feel more secure in his affections if she was being held. She collapsed easily against him, rubbing against his chest and clutching his doublet.

 

As she cried, he pondered over the message she had sent with her choice of dress. It was the one he first gave her, in Stark colors. She also wore her betrothal necklace. Everything she wore that he could see had been gifts to her from himself. So she wanted him to know that she was his. She calmed in his arms, taking deep breaths. Once it finished, he spoke.

 

He helped her to stand, even as she pressed closer, dug her fingers in tighter to his clothes, and continued her slow, deep breathing. He stroked her hair, tilting her face up to him. With gentle pressure on her waist, he helped her to sit on the padded seat beside him. She kept her hold on him. He sat calmly, waiting for her to look at him. It was only when they were looking into each other’s eyes that he spoke to her.

 

“Tell me the truth.”

 

It was the simplest command he could give. She thought he believed something, and she feared the consequences. He had taught people to fear the consequences of crossing him. Whatever might be happening, there was no fighting it without knowing.

 

Sansa swallowed, chewing the back of her lip as she gazed up at him. She had probably never been this close to any man except her father, and probably not since she was a little girl. He combed his fingers through her hair to keep her calm.

 

“They’re saying that—that Jon, Ser Jon, and I are in love. I’m not in love with him, and I would never do anything to shame you, Your Grace. Please, believe me. I’ve known Jon all my life. He used to play horrible tricks on me, like covering himself flour and pretending to be a ghost when Robb goaded him into it.”

 

She trailed off as he gazed down into her eyes. They started to get bright again, like she was going to begin crying.

 

“Please don’t punish me. We didn’t do anything. We wouldn’t. We don’t feel that way for each other. Please, believe me. Please, don’t hurt Jon.”

 

Tywin gazed down into her sapphire bright eyes, wondering if she had more to say. The last time that he had a crying woman in his arms, it had been after his wife had been raped by the Mad King.

 

“If you hurt us—”

 

Tears were rising in her eyes again. She was afraid of angering him of him believing that she was threatening him with war. Words of what would be were no threat. They were wise counsel, though it was only what Tywin already knew. It was what he was seeking to end forever by making her his wife, by making her mother of a prince, the future king of the seven kingdoms.

 

Tywin noted her words. So Ser Jon was important to Lord Stark as well; he might have guessed as much. For the boy to be so well trained, he must have been raised alongside Robb.

 

“If I hurt you, your father will call his banners. Your uncle, Lord Edmure Tully, will call his banners. Your uncle, Lord Jon Arryn, or his son will call his banners. It will mean war, a war which I do not want.”

 

She pressed into his shoulder, stretching an arm across him with a sigh that showed how hard she was working to hold back tears again. She was stressed for a reason. He would force her to tell him, or she would not leave his presence. He could not have this fear of him infecting their family. They were to be united; she would give him children. If she did not know that she could depend upon him, their house would look weak.

 

“Lady Sansa, what punishment did you think would be visited upon your person? Where did you hear your story?” He took her neck in his hand and tilted it back, rubbing her silky skin gently as he gazed into her eyes.

 

“Princess Cersei said you made a—a whore walk naked through the streets of Lannisport, and that there was another.”

 

Tywin felt his jaw clench. This was his fault in part. He was not ashamed of what he had done to that thieving whore. She had thought to wear his mother’s jewels because her cunt had squeezed his father’s cock, and his father had been too weak to put her in her place.

 

At least, some good would come of this. There was time to correct this before it cost them too much. It was on him to correct it. It would cost him only some hours speaking with his future wife, teaching her about him instead of about being queen. She needed to know that she was to be his most precious possession; she was a safeguard against war. He massaged the side of her neck.

 

“I’m sure you’ve heard many stories about me. Winterfell’s maester taught you well your lessons, and there are things about a man that his actions say. Just as there are things only he can teach about himself to others. I’ve neglected teaching these lessons, my Lady.”

 

He shifted her back away from him then, noticing the way she bit her lip and swayed slightly back toward him. She was a woman, desirous of physical affection. He would see that she had it, as propriety allowed.

 

“We will spend time together, getting to know each other. You will not be harmed, and Ser Jon has lately saved my life. The Tyrells likely wish discord between us, especially if it put their little golden rose in my bed and on a throne. We cannot completely silence the rumors. If I ordered it stopped, your love for him would only be thought more impassioned.”

 

Sansa took his hand between hers. She was wiser than he had given her credit for being. She knew what their match was, and she knew what was at stake.

 

“What we can do is make sure that you’re above reproach, and we will. You’ll have another guard in the morning. Now, come. I will escort you to your rooms personally, and we will share breakfast in the morning so you can meet your new guard, the Blue Knight.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that updates for this are coming so slowly. I am working on getting something original published, and it's taking much of my extra time and energy. I have not abandoned any of my fanfiction, but updates will be coming more slowly.


	9. Courage and Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She regretted the words the instant they were out, but there was nothing to do. She could not bring them back, and the frozen fury on the king’s face had her backing away. Her hand flew to her mouth to keep any other words inside.

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**  


Jon walked quickly up the steps of the Serpentine to find Sansa.  The Stark banners had been spotted.  Her father and mother were approaching the capital.  He knew she would be excited to see them.  It was all she had been talking about for the last few days.  She had nearly flown into him as she returned from her usual evening dinner with the king, telling him that they would arrive the next day.  After embracing her, he had promised to let her know when they could ride out to greet them.  She had kissed his cheek, telling him that he was too good to her while the Blue Knight, Lady Brienne of Tarth, looked on silent as ever.  
  
He knocked quickly on her door in the rhythm they had established to let her know it was him.  Robb was already down at the stables, and he had his squire saddling the horses for himself and Sansa.  
  
“Come in.”  Sansa’s voice was just loud enough to be heard.  
  
Jon pushed the door open, and he walked into the solar that had been set aside for Sansa and her ladies.  They were all seated together with sewing in their hands or laps, and they all looked up at him as he made his way to her side.  Each murmured his name as he passed her, and he distinctly heard a few giggles.  
  
“Your parents are an hour or two from the city, my Lady.”  
  
Sansa’s eyes sparkled at the news, and she set aside her work to rise.  
  
“We must go out to greet them.  Brienne, please join us.  I’m certain my parents will be delighted to meet you.”  
  
Jon took a deep breath, reminding himself of the company she was in and their father’s advice about keeping the information that they were siblings between just the Starks.  
  
“Lord and Lady Stark will be really happy to see you.  We should leave now, if we want to surprise them before they make the city.”  Jon nodded to the other ladies as Sansa took his arm to be escorted to the stables.  
  
“My Lady, I would like to accompany you, if it please you.”  
  
Lady Allyria stood, steadily meeting Sansa’s eyes.  Since the announcement of his sister’s betrothal and his taking Lord Edric as his squire, the slightly older girl had practically sewn the hems of their skirts together.  Sansa had asked her to serve her as a lady-in-waiting as soon as she was wed to the king.  
  
Why did she want to meet their father?  They were destined to meet soon enough.  Why ride out to meet Lord Stark?  She had asked Sansa dozens of questions about the North and Winterfell and Lord Stark within his hearing.  Sansa had reciprocated with as many questions about Dorne and Starfall and House Dayne.  Why did she want to befriend and serve the daughter of the man who killed her brother?    
  
Naturally, Sansa thought nothing of this, and the few times he had tried to get her to think about it, she defended Lady Allyria as if they were sisters.  She even pointed out that it was smart of Allyria to seek the friendship of the woman to be queen, and there was no fault he could find with that logic.  Jon hoped that she was a true friend.  Dreamsong had never acted as though Lady Allyria was a danger to his sister, so he had stopped telling her to be weary of the other girl.    
  
Still, it was not so easy for him not to worry over his gentlest and sweetest sibling, and she was to live her with one of the coldest men he had ever met.  Over the past several moons, the king had personally escorted Sansa many places, always with a number of guards.  She now sat beside him when he held court, always walking up the steps to the throne on his arm.  She sat close enough to rest a hand on his arm if she pleased, and he often held her hand.  
  
She looped her arm through her new friend’s.  She glanced up at Jon as if to tell him to watch and see that they were dear friends.  She wished to remove his doubts about the beautiful Dornish girl.  Perhaps, he should have their father try to talk to Sansa about it, or Lady Catelyn, if the woman would even be willing.  A girl who was friends with her just because she was to be queen could be dangerous.  
  
“My Lady, the king must speak with you.”  Ser Barristan bowed to them.  
  
“I’ll go and see that my horse is ready.”  Allyria kissed her cheek and departed in the direction of the stables as they followed Ser Barristan.  


**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.  H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.  H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.  H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

  
Tywin jerked a bit before going stony-faced at the report he was reading from Genna.  His betrothed must have lost her young mind if she thought he was going to allow her to go riding with only her sworn shield through the city.  There had been an attempted assassination against him, and while he had outwitted his assassin, it did not mean that Sansa was safe outside the castle.  It did not suit appearances, so he had sent Ser Barristan to fetch her to him immediately.  She ought to be at his side when they arrived, acting like the queen she was to become.  
  
A soft knock at the door came, and the girl was gently escorted into the room where he had been meeting with his Small Council by his lord commander.  
  
She came in alone as ordered, though he was sure that her guards were just outside the door.  This was a matter of discussion for the two of them, but for the sake of propriety, Kevan was present.  
  
She stopped and curtsied to him at the long end of the council table.  Her lips and mouth moved into a number of different shapes as she tried to settle on an expression.  Eventually, she dipped her chin so her face was tipped down.  
  
“Your Grace.”  
  
“You should always look your husband in the eyes.  We aren’t yet wed, but best start practicing now.”  It made them appear unified, as opposed to making her look weaker.  “Come closer, Lady Sansa.”  
  
She glided around the table to him as if she was floating and stopped to his right just out of reach.  
  
“Closer, and look at me.”  
  
She moved closer, slowly raising her eyes to his.  He enjoyed her submissiveness to him in private.  He did not need or desire a woman constantly pecking or peeping at him like a bird.    
  
His daughter was enough of a trial.  Her duty had been so simple, and she refused it.  She came to him every day with some whim or vexation, telling him that he was making a mistake, telling him everything that was wrong with Sansa.  Had she simply done her duty, he would not be marrying again.  Still, Cersei seemed to think that he was doing this for personal satisfaction.  He had nearly slapped her for that comment; he was not his father, and he would not have one man or woman think such.  This was for the seven kingdoms, not his personal pleasure.  If he were a pious man, he would credit the gods for his fortune in finding so beautiful and gentle a girl to tie the kingdoms together.  It would be no chore to take her to his bed.  He had even come to somewhat enjoy her gentle opinions when they would speak in the evenings after a long day of holding court.  She had a kind heart and a fine bloodline, two qualities every queen should have.  
  
“You will greet your parents here in the courtyard at my side.”    
  
Tywin remained calm and frozen at the softness in her eyes as they pleaded with him, waiting for her request.  He had made it as clear to her as he could when she made her first request that requests and having them granted would come at a cost.  She would pay her debts to him.  He had never intended for her parents to not be at their wedding, but she had not known that.  It would insult the North, make them think of him as a Wildling stealing her.  That was the last thing he needed, and it would undermine everything he was attempting to achieve with this union.  
  
“Please, Your Grace, I’ve not seen them for so long.”  
  
“It may be far longer till their next visit after our wedding.”  Tywin watched her closely.  He was grateful that she was not a girl prone to tearful begging.  He would have no tolerance for such a display.  “A queen does not gallivant around the city with a few guards.  She does not ride out to greet those summoned at the command of her husband.  They come to her.”  


**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

  


Sansa bit the back of her lower lip as she stood in front of the king being chided for wanting to ride out and greet her parents.  She had done everything he commanded, but there were so many things she was no longer allowed to do.  He treated her like she was going to run away with someone despite her spending every evening in his company.    
  
She had known her life would change once she was told she would marry the king, but she had not expected this.  She had felt so hopeful when the king told her she would be queen, that she would have his children.  She had dreamed often of her wedding and a husband who loved her.  She wanted to give her husband beautiful little babies.  Her son would be a prince, and he would have the Seven Kingdoms.  He would be a good king.  She would be sure that he was honorable and just.  
  
Her dream of love in her marriage had come to feel more and more possible these past months.  Hearing about the way the king loved his first wife from Lady Genna had warmed her heart to him.  All their quiet evening conversations made her want his heart.    
  
More than a few of the ladies at court had spoken of it.  The ladies who spoke of it were of an age to know.  The stories she had heard of his love for the Lady Joanna were wonderful.  They said the Lannister Wedding had been one of the most beautiful ever seen.  They said the pair rode back to the Red Keep in a gleaming golden carriage drawn by six shining white horses.  They said her hair had sparkled with rubies and pearls, that she had danced most of the night away in her new husband’s arms.  They said the king, just then made Hand of the King, had not stopped staring at her the whole evening.  They said he had smiled.  
  
Sansa had never seen the king smile.  He must have loved Lady Joanna very much.  She must have been a truly remarkable and special lady to have had his love.  She was not sure how the great lady did it, wrapped her hands around his heart.     
  
She wanted to ride out to greet her parents.  She would be with him for dinner.  She was a good girl who was doing nothing wrong, and she wanted to be a good wife to him.  He said she was to be his queen, his equal, but he treated her like she was his servant to command, and before she thought better of it, the words were out of her mouth.  
  
“Would you have treated Lady Joanna this way?”  
  
She regretted the words the instant they were out, but there was nothing to do.  She could not bring them back, and the frozen fury on the king’s face had her backing away.  Her hand flew to her mouth to keep any other words inside.  
  
He stood slowly as the golden lion sigil of his house, and he advanced toward her, backing her into a wall.  Her fingers scrabbled for purchase against the stone.  His eyes were hard as diamonds, and he stopped inches away from her.  She turned her head away in fear as his breath came out.  
  
“Look at me when I speak to you.”  
  
Just the tips of his fingers turned her chin and tilted her face up to his.  She shook a little, remembering when the king ordered the flogging of a man a sennight past.  He had been caught stealing from one of the ladies from the Vale.  That man had not pained him.  He had just been the king, doing his duty to protect the ladies of court.  She had caused him pain in his heart.  The words he had spoken to her crept to the front of her mind. A Lannister always pays his debts.  
  
“Never speak of Joanna again.”  
  
For a moment, his eyes glittered more brightly than she had ever seen them.  The moment she thought she saw tears, he blinked and they were gone.  She had seen her words hurt before.  Her sister, Arya, was poor at all that made a lady.  She was no lady, and she never would be.  She had too much of the wolf in her.  Still, Sansa should never have behaved as she did.  She remembered the tears in Arya’s gray eyes on one occasion when their septa sharply criticized her crooked stitches.  Arya had run off when Sansa had smirked at her.  She had felt so guilty afterwards that she had not been able to look at her sister for a fortnight following, and she never apologized.  
  
“We have no need to meet this evening.”  
  
Those feelings of remorse and guilt were nothing to the twisting her insides now.  Her heart hurt so badly that her stomach was sick.  Her heart raced like the rabbits she had seen their pet wolves chase.  She pressed her hand over it as she struggled to breath as he walked away.  She longed to reach out to him, to apologize on her knees for her cruel words.  She should never have spoken that way to him, and she had no knowledge of how to make it better, if there was even any way to do so.  


**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.  H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.  H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.  H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

  


Tywin shut the door behind him quietly.  He heard her frightened sob, and he refused to feel bad for frightening her.  His guards walked quietly behind him while Kevan walked at his side in similar silence, following him all the way to his private solar.  The heaviness of his silence was more difficult to bear, but he pushed it aside along with the look of fear on the face of his betrothed.  
  
She should be wiser than to make such comments—better bred if nothing else.  The way Joanna’s death had cut into him, a wound to his heart that spilled his guts.  He was not sure it would ever truly heal.  It was only natural that Joanna’s name would be mentioned around the castle as he prepared to take a new wife after thirty years.  Many noble ladies had come to Casterly Rock looking for a lion pelt, and they had all walked away empty-handed and disappointed.  
  
“Tywin.”  
  
“I’m going fishing.”  He took his crown of gold and rubies off and set it on the table with a sigh.  He would trade it all to have Joanna back.  He gritted his teeth and began undoing his court tunic to change into something plainer.  
  
“Tywin.”  
  
He turned an ugly glare on his brother.  Kevan always was rather too tender-hearted toward women.  Sansa had deserved what she got for saying something so ignorant.  He had paid his debt to her, and he had needed to do nothing more than give a little roar.  
  
“What?”  
  
Kevan met his eyes directly, and Tywin could see the intent in them.  He was reminding his king of his duty to their northern guests.  The Starks would arrive soon, and he ought to be here to greet them.  They were surely far more interested in a family reunion than they were in a royal audience.  The last time his brother looked at him that way had been when the Martells visited the Rock shortly after Joanna’s death.  He had been in mourning, and he wanted nothing to do with people trying to take his only link to her away.  He wanted less to do with them after Prince Lewyn Martell returned Joanna after Aerys did what he did, but that was a story he could never tell another soul.  
  
“Joanna would want you to be happy.  You won’t be happy if your second wife is too fearful to meet your eyes.  That girl wants to be a good wife to you, and she wants you to be pleased by her.  You can let her.  Let me speak with her about Joanna.”  
  
 “Tell her enough, and no more.  I won’t tolerate falsehoods about Joanna again.”  Tywin tugged on a black tunic.  “Why do you care so much about her?”  
  
“Not her, Tywin.  You.  You’re my brother.  I wish to see you happy again.  This isn’t about Joanna.  You’re hurt because it was her saying it.  You like her.”  
  
Tywin turned an ugly, cold scowl on his brother.  Why shouldn’t he find something to like about the girl who was going to be sharing his bed?  She was normally very tender-hearted, but just a few minutes ago, she shoved a dagger into him in a way few had ever been able to do so.  It was because of what happened to Joanna that he was being so protective of her.  
  
“She hurt you, and she doesn’t know how.  She knows that she did something wrong, but if you don’t talk to her about this—if no one does—it will only poison your marriage.  That isn’t what she wants, and it isn’t what you want.  Let me help you both.”  
  
“Very well.”  
  
Kevan bowed somewhat stiffly before withdrawing.  
  
Tywin gathered his fishing pole and departed for the docks with his guards, determined not to consider any rumors or pain of the past.  


**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

  


Jon slipped into the Small Council’s chamber as soon as the king and his guard departed.  The king had looked almost angry, yet he had the control to shut the door so gently.  It lit Jon’s nerves on fire.  He knew what the man did with a completely calm, cool head.  He destroyed two houses, the Reynes of Castamere and the Tarbecks.  They said their bodies rotted in crow cages hanging from the walls of Casterly Rock.  He claimed the Iron Throne not so many years ago, though luck must have been involved there.  
  
No one could foresee the deaths of Prince Rhaegar and Robert Baratheon.  No one could have predicted the Mad King would kill his grandchildren and good-daughter with wildfire, or that one of his seven would turn on him.  
  
He gasped and darted into the room when he saw his sister on her knees, huddling against the wall with her face in her hands.  
  
“Sansa.”    
  
He gathered her up closer to him.  She was nearly in his lap as he crouched beside her.  When she uncovered her face to hold him closer, he breathed out a sigh to see that she had not been hit.  If she had been, whoever did it would be bloodied soon enough.  
  
“Jon.”  
  
He looked away from the thin tendrils of smoke rising from a recently blown out candle.  
  
“Did he hurt you, Sansa?”  
  
She shook her head, and the aroma of rose from the oil she rubbed into her skin tickled his nose, allowing him to escape the smoke and the images of blood in his head.  His breath came out easier as he ran his hands over her arms, checking to see that no injury had been done.  Just tears on her cheeks, so perhaps just some harsh words.  It would not be the first time the king had been stern with her.  
  
“I hurt him, Jon, and I didn’t mean to.  And I don’t know if he’ll let me make it better, let me tend the wound.”  
  
He took the small cloth that she had embroidered with a white wolf and snowflakes and wiped away the trails of tears from her cheeks.  
  
“I don’t know what I’d do without you here, Jon.”  
  
She leaned into him, arms encircling his chest as her breathing steadied.  She had come to rely upon him more than Robb over the past months, and he was glad to know that he could do something for his family.  
  
“I won’t leave you, and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”  


**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

  


Sansa took several deep breaths to calm herself.  Jon was right.  She was not harmed, and angry as the king had looked, he had not even raised his voice.  Hear me roar.  Tywin Lannister did not need to roar.  He could whisper, and people would not struggle to hear his voice.  
  
The image of the man being taken away to his whipping flashed in her head again.  The king had ordered no punishment for her.  Thinking about Ser Ilyn, the king’s justice, made her feel grateful for him.  They said Ser Ilyn’s tongue had been cut out when he said something the Mad King had disliked.  She was grateful that her king was who he was.  
  
“My Lady.”  
  
She took a step back as Jon dropped his arms, and one hand fell to the hilt of his sword.  She wiped away the tear tracks and smiled as Lady Allyria came to her.  
  
“The horses are ready.  Are we leaving to meet your parents?”  
  
Sansa swallowed back her disappointment at the answer she would have to give and reminded herself that it was only a few short hours till she would enjoy her mother’s embrace.  
  
“The king feels that a queen welcomes guests to her castle by greeting them in the courtyard.”  
  
“They’ll be here soon.”  Allyria’s voice was gentle as she smiled and took Sansa’s arm.  
  
“Very soon.”  Jon agreed.  
  
Sansa looked sharply toward the side door at the sound of the Lord Hand’s voice.  Ser Kevan stood in the doorway with four red-cloaks.  He strode into the room quietly and calmly.  
  
“I was hoping that I might walk the woman soon to be my sister along the castle walls if it would please her.”  Lord Kevan’s lips quirked softly, an expression that did match the droop of his eyes.  “You’ll be able to see your father’s banners from there as soon as he reaches the city, and I should like to discuss something important with you.”  
  
“That would be lovely.  I must only let my brother know he may leave without me.”  
  
“I would be happy to take your message to Lord Robb, Lady Sansa.”  
  
“Thank you, Allyria.  I hope that you’ll sit near me at dinner.”  
  
“I’ll see you then.”  
  
They embraced and Allyria departed, picking up her two Dornish guards at the door.  
  
Sansa took the Hand’s arm and allowed him to escort her quietly to the outermost wall of he Red Keep, wondering what he had to discuss with her.  Perhaps if she was careful, she might gain some information that could help her understand her soon-to-be-husband better.  Surely, no one in the world knew the king half so well as his brother.  
  
“What do you know of Lady Joanna?”  His voice was gentle, and he rested a hand on hers in the crook of arm.  
  
Sansa looked up at him quietly as she told him what Lady Jeyne Westerling had told her of the king with his first wife, that he loved her.  
  
“It’s very true.  What you haven’t heard—”    
  
Lord Kevan’s voice was soft as they walked together, and Sansa hung on every word never letting her eyes leave his face.  It was as tragic as any song she had ever heard, and it made her heart ache for what she had said.  
  
“You aren’t here because the king distrusts you, but because he wants to keep you safe.  He failed to protect Lady Joanna.  He will not allow himself to fail you in the same way.”  
  
“Why?”    
  
Sansa’s heart hurt a little as she asked the question she feared she already could answer.  It was because she was the daughter of an ancient house.  It was because her family might go to war over her as they had for her aunt Lyanna.  
  
“Because he cares.  He’s never been good at expressing it, and he probably never will be.  He’s complicated, but if he truly saw nothing in you except your family connections—if that was all you were, he would not go out of his way to spend time with you each evening.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to hurt him.”  She whispered.  “I’d do anything to take it back.”  
  
“You have a number of options, my Lady, and each one presents you with a different series of problems.  Joanna was his equal and opposite, a true lioness.”  He paused, leaning down to meet her eyes.  “You can run from the problem you caused, showing the lion your back and letting him know you’re his meat.  Or you can confront the problem, not with sharp claws and roars.  Those are his weapons, and that’s his game.  You’ll lose every time.  What are your weapons?  What’s your game?”  
  
Sansa nibbles her lip, hating the habit, but she had no weapons to use against the king.  He had all the power in the land.  
  
“Even lions appreciate honey, my Lady.  He’s no exception, no matter what he’d have the world believe.”  


**⚔S⚔T⚔A⚔R⚔F⚔A⚔L⚔L⚔ ⚔D⚔A⚔W⚔N⚔ ⚔S⚔W⚔O⚔R⚔D⚔O⚔F⚔T⚔H⚔E⚔M⚔O⚔R⚔N⚔I⚔N⚔G⚔ ⚔D⚔A⚔W⚔N⚔ ⚔S⚔T⚔A⚔R⚔F⚔A⚔L⚔L⚔**

 

Edric patted the horses gently after removing their saddles and bridles.  He scowled a little as he peeked over Star’s stall wall at his aunt’s sand-steed.  She offered her horse a carrot before gently plaiting its mane and twisting lavender ribbons into it.  
  
He had been hoping to meet Lord Stark away from all the prying ears of the castle.  He was not sure how he dared approach, much less ask such a question of the Warden of the North.  It was not a polite question, asking about the mother of his bastard son, but Allyria was right.  He might be a Dayne, and they owed it to him to let him know, if he was, that he would always be welcome in Starfall.  
  
“We must wait just a little longer, but it’ll be fine.”  
  
“I know.”  Edric moved to Jon’s horse and began brushing him while he munched on hay.  
  
“Ned.”  
  
Allyria moved over to look into his eyes.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Good.  We should not ask these questions lightly.”  
  
Edric nodded.  The last thing he wanted was to cause anyone pain.  He did not want other families to feel the loss his father had.  He would not wish upon them the questions he had.  He particularly did not want to hurt Lady Sansa.  She seemed such a kindhearted lady, and he had promised to protect her so long as he served Ser Jon.  Allyria motioned him closer to her.  
  
“We must watch out for Lady Sansa and Ser Jon.  Northmen do not always fare well in the South, and northern ladies can find themselves in much trouble when a southern man takes interest in them.”  
  
Edric set his jaw.  The history of Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar’s ill-fated love was known to all.  They both died.  He had seen enough interactions between Ser Jon and Lady Sansa to realize how much trouble they could find for themselves if they were careless and even if they were careful.  They loved each other, and loving the wrong person could be dangerous and heartbreaking.  
  
“I’ll speak with Lady Sansa.  You must speak with Ser Jon.  We should not sit idly by and watch a house cross another.”  
  
Edric nodded.  
  
“You’re sure we’ll at least be introduced to him tonight?”  
  
“Lady Sansa has given me her word, though our questions are best saved for elsewhere.”  
  
He and Allria had been waiting for answers to these questions all their lives.  A few days more would not be so long to wait.  He was of one mind with his aunt about what was right.  They were Dornish.  They would not feel less love and devotion toward any cousin of theirs, no matter what his name was.  Dayne, Sand, Snow, Stark.  It was just a name, and perhaps Lord Stark’s other son of age would want to know more about his family.  They certainly wanted to know him and let him know that he was loved.  The king might give a man a new name if asked nicely enough.  


**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

  


It was all Sansa could do to stand still beside Lord Kevan as her mother and father dismounted in the courtyard.  Lady Genna’s hold on her arm helped, along with the lady’s hushed reminder to let her parents come to her.  
  
Neither wasted pleasantries on the others assembled to welcome them.  She was wrapped up in their arms quickly enough.  The relief of having her mother beside her was so sweet.  She felt certain that Lady Catelyn could help her.  It was as Jon had reminded her.  Her parents had not long known each other before they were hastily wed, but they learned to love each other.  Surely, her mother could help her with the king.  Her father was prone to moods of melancholy, and while she would not describe the king’s mood as melancholic, it was still an emotional state in which he was less willing to communicate with her.  
  
“I’m so glad that you’re here.”  
  
She smiled as her mother combed her fingers through her hair.  
  
“Neither the old gods, nor the new, could have prevented me from attending the wedding of my first daughter.  I’ve always known you had a great destiny before you, Sansa.”  
  
“I need you mother.  I need help.”  
  
Lady Catelyn took her face in her hands, “Has that man hurt you?”  
  
“No.”  She took her mother’s hands  between hers and lowered them.  “No.  The king is—the king.  He wouldn’t hurt me.”  
  
“We’ll talk at once, my dear.”    
  
Sansa tucked her arm through her mother’s for the comfort of knowing that they were truly together, and she tried not to think about the sad story she had heard about the king and his wife earlier that afternoon.  To hear Lord Kevan tell the tale, the loss of Lady Joanna nearly killed the king.  She knew she had to find a way to show him how sorry she was.  They were to be married in two days.  She did not wish to bring ill feelings into their marriage.  


**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

  


Jon settled in at the feast, watching over Sansa from where he was sitting.  She was beside her mother, and their father sat beside the king.  She looked content whispering with her mother, smiling as a singer came close to the table, singing about Florian and Jonquil.  Lady Catelyn laughed with her as a fool tumbled in front of the table.  
  
She looked toward the king quietly from time to time.  He had heard enough of what passed that afternoon to piece together what distressed her.  Sansa was too sweet to say something she believed would hurt someone, but what she said to the king had stirred memories that haunted him.  He lashed out with words at her to get even, and he frightened her.  
  
Jon had not believed that anything had ever hurt Tywin Lannister.  He also saw a man who knew his duty and always performed it until this afternoon.  He ought to have been present to greet Lord and Lady Stark when they arrived, yet he was conspicuously absent.  He was marrying their daughter.  His father had pulled him aside, quietly asking what happened, and Jon had not known what to say.  
  
It was a private matter that was discussed, what Lord Kevan said about the love the king felt for Lady Joanna.  Jon had heard plenty about it for people around the castle.  They said that Lady Joanna had led her lion with gentle hands and love, that the pair were never happier than they were every moment they spent together.  Lord Kevan said that when Joanna died, his brother was nearly taken with her.  The best parts of him were buried inside, and they were not for everyone to see.  However, if Sansa was patient and gentle with him, he believed she could find that man.  
  
Jon wanted to caution her afterwards that these might be Lord Kevan’s hopes for his brother more than objective reality.  He knew his sister would probably take offense to his suggestion, but not everything could be cured so easily.  King Tywin’s heart was assuredly one of those things that would not heal easily.  He remained alone for thirty years.  There was surely far more to the story than the Hand had been willing to share, but he would not violate his brother’s trust, no more than Jon would betray his sister and brother.  
  
He remembered the rumors about his father and Lady Ashara at the Harrenhal Tourney.  The servants had whispered her name when they looked at him sometimes.  A few even tutted sadly when he was a boy, saying that his father had loved Lady Ashara Dayne, found her the most beautiful woman in the world.  She had been so beautiful that he had not been able to even approach her.  His brother Brandon had to ask her to dance with Eddard.  He crept through the castle one night, hoping to ask the servants who talked about his father and Lady Ashara Dayne all his questions, if she was his mother.  He wanted to know if she loved her son.  Instead, he found his father, and the look of rage and pain on his face was something he had never forgotten.  He had wondered then just how much his father had loved her, and he knew he would not ask if she was his mother.  
  
“Ser.”  
  
Jon looked up at Edric.  He was getting better at knowing when he was being addressed that way.  
  
“Will I be raising your tent for the King’s Wedding Tourney?”  
  
Jon took a small gulp of watered down wine as he considered his answer.  He knew that his father always said that Tourneys were dangerous.  They showed a man, a man who could be your opponent on a battlefield one day, what you could do.  Still, Sansa had asked him the same, if he would be competing.  She told him that he must wear her favor if he did, as he was sworn to her service.  
  
“Yes, Ned.  I think I will compete in the joust, though I don’t know that a tent will be necessary.  I’ll still be guarding Lady—the queen.”  Jon corrected himself.  
  
“As you say, Ser.”  Edric shifted about nervously as he spoke before meeting Jon’s eyes.  
  
“Do you want to say something, Ned?”  
  
“Not here, Ser.”  
  
Jon glanced toward Sansa, noticing that she and her mother had stood.  
  
“I’ll escort Lady Sansa to her rooms, and then we’ll speak.”  
  
“Yes. Ser.”  


**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

  


Sansa smiled at her mother as she stepped around her to approach the king.  He had told her that a queen must never fear coming to her husband.  She was not a queen yet, and he was not her husband.  She said a short little prayer to the gods for courage.  She sought peace and kindness.  Those were her weapons.  A lion might rise up and slap away a spear, but he did not bite the hand feeding him.  
  
The king was speaking quietly with her father about matters in the north, particularly a series of raids that had been led against them by the lords of the Iron Islands.  
  
She stepped over into his line of sight, reminding herself of the lessons Lady Genna had been teaching her.  A queen must be kind and sweet.  She must always obey her husband, and she must never fear reaching for him.    
  
His hand rested on the grand arm of his chair atop the handsomely wrought lions.  She stared at his long elegant fingers as she reached both her hands for his.  
  
Tomorrow they would be seated side by side.  She would be taken to his bed, and he would be her husband in the eyes of the gods and men.  In two days, she might—she might be.  She blushed at the thought before shaking it away.  It would be a blessing to have his child.  
  
She squeezed his wrist so tenderly as they met eyes, forcing herself not to chew the back of her lip with her nervousness.  The softness that changed them ever so slightly when they spoke every evening was not there, but he did not withdraw from her.  He wouldn’t let it publicly appear that they were in anything but harmony, particularly not with her father so near.  
  
“Your Grace.”  
  
He nodded to let her know that he was listening, and he turned his hand to take hers.  She linked their fingers together instinctively, and he shifted slightly closer to her, green eyes watching her.  
  
“May I beg a moment of your time this evening in private?  I have something I very much wish to say.”  
  
His eyes had slid past his bride-to-be to her mother who was standing with her.  She knew her mother.  Her mother was surely giving him a look like the one she used to give Bran when she would catch him climbing the walls of Winterfell.  Sansa knew her mother took her house’s words quite seriously.  Family always came first, and she would go to war for her family.  
  
“Lady Sansa, it wouldn’t be appropriate for us to have a meeting alone.  However, if Lady Catelyn would agree to accompany you, I’ll send Ser Barristan to bring you to my solar.”  
  
“It would be an honor, Your Grace.”  
  
Sansa turned her brightest smile on her mother.  She knew that she could count on her to help her figure out how to make things right between her betrothed and her before the wedding.  She could not bear the thought of taking the harsh words she had spoken this afternoon with her into marriage to this man.  
  
“I’ll send for you both soon.”  
  
She clutched his hand a little tighter to thank him as best she could in the moment.  The king gave her a calm gesture of dismissal, and she let go, taking her mother’s arm as a replacement when Jon stepped up to escort them back to her rooms.  


**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.  H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.  H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.  H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

  


Tywin sat behind the desk in his private solar, waiting for Lady Sansa and her mother to arrive.  Ser Barristan had departed to fetch them when he was on his way back here.  She had piqued his curiosity with the gentle sincerity in her voice, along with his brother telling him that she would be making a request for a short time with him but giving him no idea what purpose she wished to serve by the request.    
  
She had asked so little of him since coming here, only that her parents be present at her wedding.  She was a special young woman who had a special purpose.  Cersei had arrived with demands for jewels and money.  Sansa had a sweetness that reminded him of his wife especially her approach this evening and how she had taken his hand.  It had been a calculated move.  Of that he had no doubt.  She had approached him when he could not afford to say no, but she still thanked him for giving her the answer she wanted.  
  
The soft knocking at his door drew him from the memory of her eyes as she spoke with her hand placed so softly on him.  
  
“Enter.”  
  
“Lady Sansa and Lady Catelyn of House Stark.”  
  
They entered arm in arm, but Sansa released her mother as soon as she crossed the threshold.  She approached alone, stopping on the golden lion rug in front of his desk.  
  
“The chair near the hearth is quite comfortable, Lady Stark.”  
  
That chair would offer a view of his desk while being distant enough to allow them the measure of privacy requested by his betrothed.  
  
Lady Catelyn nodded and sat by the fire with her eyes set firmly on her daughter.  Sansa smiled reassuringly at her mother before looking to him for permission to come closer.  
  
“Come and be seated at my side, Sansa.”  
  
He held his hand out to her, and she took it softly as she moved around his desk.  She clutched his hand as she sat on the lightly cushioned seat he had placed beside his own, and she continued holding it between hers as he sat.  
  
“Your Grace.”  She paused, clearly trying to gather her thoughts as her thumbs caressed his knuckles gently.  
  
Tywin breathed out heavily at this.  He was to be her husband.  It would be better if she learned to call him by name.  Being called ‘your grace’ in the privacy of the bedchamber was not something that particularly appealed to him.  It was also just the sort of thing to avoid.  If there was even a rumor about such, it made them sound far too distant.  It could fuel fires better doused before the sparks caught.  
  
“Sansa.”  She bit the back of her lip as he spoke.  “You are to be more than the queen.  You’re to be my wife.  That means a great deal to me.  My wife need not address me so formally in private.  She ought to have the comfort and familiarity with her husband to use my name.  I wish you to use it, particularly in private—and in public, outside court, if it please you.”  
  
“As you command, Your—Tywin.”  
  
He nodded to her as she corrected herself.  It would take time for her to adjust to this.  She had probably never addressed any of her social peers outside her brothers and sister by name.  At least, she had made the effort to self-correct.  She would do better in time.  
  
“What did you wish to say to me?”  
  
She scooted to the edge of her seat, resting their hands on her lap.  
  
“I wanted to give you my sincerest apologies for my behavior this afternoon.  I only considered my own desires, not what you were teaching me about how to be the queen you need me to be.  I did not consider that you wish to protect me, not only from thieves and brigands, but things that are mayhaps worse.  My words were unkind, and I beg your forgiveness.”  She pressed her lips to his middle knuckle before she finished.  “I hurt you, and I have never wanted to hurt anyone.”  
  
Tywin blinked slowly at her, wondering just what his brother had said that afternoon.  For the first time in years, he pondered if Joanna had ever said anything to Kevan about what happened at the Ten Year Anniversary Tourney.  It would only have been his brother acting as nature and circumstance had taught him if he inquired about Joanna’s health upon her return to the Rock.  
  
It had been years since anyone apologized to Tywin, truly and sincerely, not because they were afraid of what he might do.  Unable to meet the intensity of his gaze, Sansa looked down at their hands and began tracing shapes on the back of his.  
  
“I don’t allow anyone to speak ill of my wife, Sansa.  I’ll tolerate rumors about you no more than I did Joanna.  Anything said to shame her in the eyes of Westeros was a lie.”  
  
Tywin took a deep breath, forcing a calm over himself.  All the horrible things Aerys had said to her the night before he raped her pounded in his head like the beating of war drums.  He remembered how she had cried and begged him to leave with her so she would not have to lose him.  She could not bear to lose the man she loved to the king.  
  
He stopped himself before he asked if anything had been said to shame her had truth.  She had been watched so carefully and closely, and he would know for certain tomorrow.  She wanted to care for him, truly care for him, and he had known so few people like that.  It made her a fine lady.  
  
“I hope and pray that in time I’ll be able to make you proud as my husband and my king.  I swear that I’ll raise our children as best I know how.”  
  
Tywin nodded to her, moving a hand out to push her hair back.  He could not see any deception in the girl.  There was no hint of artifice, and no signs of hidden heartbreak.  The rumors of her love for Ser Jon persisted, and it was impossible not to see that she loved her knight.  Just as it was impossible for them to have done anything with that love since they arrived.  
  
“If that’s all, Sansa, we’ll have a busy day tomorrow.  You should get your sleep.”  
  
“Yes.  Pleasant dreams, Tywin.”  Her voice was soft as she said his name, and she peered up cautiously at him as she tucked his hand against the side of her neck.  
  
He stood and offered his arm to her as they walked to the door.  Lady Catelyn met them there, and Sansa transferred her hold to her mother easily.  
  
“Ser Jaime will escort you to your chamber, Lady Sansa.”  
  
“Thank you, Tywin.”  
  
Tywin took her arms gently and kissed her temple.  Her mother’s mouth thinned, but she did not say anything.  Let her see the value he placed on her daughter.  Sansa might be worth more than all the gold in the West and in the vaults here.  She had greater chance of securing lasting peace with her child than anyone.  She would unite the Lannisters with three kingdoms.  A strong bond between the North and the crown was the foundation of all successful kings to sit in the Iron Throne.  
  
Sansa blushed and ducked her head, murmuring another goodnight to him before her mother thanked him for the escort and nearly dragged her away.  
  
Tywin shook his head.  That girl might love Ser Jon as more than one person whispered, but she was not in any way heartbroken to be marrying him.  If she was, Ser Jon would have to be sent away, to the Wall if needs be.    
  
As things stood, Tywin was considering keeping him around permanently.  He already was well known and well liked by the commoners.  He would look fine indeed in the handsome white armor of a kingsguard.  


**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

  


Jon sat down in his father’s rooms, and Lord Stark sat beside him.  Lady Stark had joined Sansa in her rooms for mother and daughter chatting and to be ready to escort her to the king when she was summoned.  It was good to have a few moments with his father.  
  
“You’ve done well in the South.”  
  
“I’ve done my duty to the lady I swore to protect.  I’ve not been seeking glory or honor.”  
  
“Yes, Jon.”  
  
His father turned silent for a moment, pensive after his usual fashion.  Jon watched him quietly.  He did not wish to needlessly alarm his father, but his knowledge would not be unwelcome.  
  
“Lord Stark.”  
  
A brief sort of pain filled his father’s eyes, but it was all part of the plan.  It was how he had been forcing himself to speak of the Lord of Winterfell.  It was what they had thought best and safest for Sansa.  
  
“Lady Sansa has done well, and the king knows how special she is.”  
  
Jon tried to think of a way to elaborate and politely describe it, but nothing readily came to his mind.  How did he tell his father that Sansa’s family name and connections to the Eyrie and Riverlands were her most interesting traits to her suitor?  What father wanted to hear that?  That she was beautiful and the kindest of ladies were just a little extra added to please.  She had not been chosen because the king felt romantic affections for her, and Sansa was a girl who had dreamed of love and passion.  
  
“My daughter is a very special young woman from a special family.”  
  
Jon nodded, glad that his father understood what he was attempting to say.  
  
“I worry about her wanting or feeling more.”  
  
Jon hurt to say it.  How could he not?  He knew who Sansa was.  She was a girl who lived in a song of love and happiness.  Jon worried with her to be wed to the king that she might never have those.  He had seen no sign of the king reciprocating or even trying to give love to her.  He worried she would be sad the rest of her days.  He had seen the king’s daughter.  Not all marriages worked out as amicably as Lord and Lady Stark’s.  They had a love that came from a mutual respect and sharing children together, but there was no burning passion.  Not what Jon remembered seeing on his father’s face when he commanded that Lady Ashara’s name never be spoken in Winterfell again.  
  
“There are some things that swords cannot defend against, Jon.  You can’t protect her from these pains any more than I.”  
  
“I don’t want her absorbing fairytale ideas.”  
  
Stories about men like Aemon the Dragonknight were about more than a brother’s love for his sister and how far he would go to defend her honor against the evils of court.  It had vicious people who spoke horrible things about the queen, the woman who should have the most love of any in a kingdom.  Aegon the Unworthy allowed people to spread those rumors about her.  Some say he started the rumors himself.  When it came to trial by combat,  Aemon had had to defend her with steel.  He would not wish upon Sansa the horrors faced by Queen Naerys.  But he would be her dragonknight if she asked it of him.  
  
“You’ll protect her well, Jon.”  
  
Jon nodded, knowing he would.  They were family, and that was everything to him.  He loved both of his sisters and his brothers.  He pulled the lovely gray silk ribbon from his pocket that Sansa gave him just a few days prior to wear when he rode.  
  
He stood quickly when Lady Catelyn joined them.  
  
“Is everything well with our daughter and the king?”  
  
Lady Catelyn nodded.  
  
“I best get to bed, my Lord.  It’ll be a long day tomorrow.”  Jon walked quickly to the door, pausing only to give a brief bow to Lady Catelyn.  
  
When he finally fell asleep that night, he dreamed that he was dressed in gleaming white armor.  He caught sight of himself in a reflective surface only once, but he saw the winged shape the dragon painted on his breastplate.  As he walked through the halls, whispers surrounded him.  He looked for them, but they always seemed to be just out of sight in the shadows.  His hand rested on the hilt of a sword hanging from his belt as he heard sobbing ahead of him.  When he shoved open the throne room doors, a hundred shadowy figures loomed in every corner, and he saw Sansa on her knees with a giant looming over her as she clutched a bundle of blankets against her chest.  When the titan like creature moved to push her again, Jon saw red and drew his sword.  The dark swirls that rippled in the blade barely registered with Jon as he spun around the creature to plunge the steel into its heart as Sansa begged to be rescued.  When he pulled it back, he noticed the shape of a bird stitched on the tunic of the giant.


	10. Wedding Days and Wedding Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she moved to kneel, Tywin reached for her, catching her hand gently in his. He had not spoken to her about that, and it made his heart tighten that she would willingly show her subservience to him without prompting and in front of the highest lords in the land. He took her other hand and tugged her gently to his chest, leaning his forehead against hers before leaning close to whisper in her ear.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa clung to her father’s arm as she walked up the steps to the entrance of the Great Sept of Baelor. It was finally happening. She was finally getting married. She would be crowned queen. She would feast with all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. She might soon be a mother, something she had long dreamed about happening.

 

Her father paused at the top of the steps as she let out a shuddery breath.

 

“Sansa.”

 

She leaned against him briefly, reminding herself as he reassured her that all would be well. She had been preparing all her life for this, a good marriage to a powerful family. She would do as Lord Kevan had suggested and be patient with the king, treat him to honey. She would be kind and gentle, give her husband the lion’s share of all her kindness. She would listen to what he did not say as much as to what he did if not more. She would support him and remind him that answers need not always be sharp and strong as unwatered Dornish sour. She would give him a son to inherit the throne, and she would teach the boy to be as wise as his father and as honorable as his grandfather.

 

“I want to be a good wife, Father, and a good queen. I want my husband to be happy.”

 

“Sansa, if you ever need me, I’ll come for you.”  
  


She smiled and nodded to him. She had never doubted his love for her. He was a good father.

 

“I’ll be brave, and the king wants to rule well. Perhaps, we’ll find our way to love as you and mother did.”

 

“I have prayed every day to the old gods for your happiness, my sweet girl.”

 

She embraced him before the doors opened that would reveal the king waiting for her near the High Septon, and she promised him that she would try to visit him soon in Winterfell. Hopefully, she would be taking a grandchild to visit when she went.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

Tywin turned calmly, the weight of his crown a steady reminder of why he had to do this, and the ladies’ murmurs about the beauty of his young bride had him setting his jaw as he thought about his father’s foolish behavior with a young woman. Sansa was nothing like that whore. She was a beauty from the oldest and noblest houses in Westeros. He needed an heir. She would be his wife in but a few short hours. She was no whore. There was a difference, and that was clear to all. He was not her fool.

 

Still seeing her looking radiant as the sun approaching him had his normally rigid posture straightening further as his chest puffed out slightly. The most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms would soon be at the side of the most powerful man. She wore a flowing white dress, and dozens of pearl topped pins decorated the braids crowning her head. The gold necklace he had given her with a ruby the size of a small bird’s egg dangled against the column of her long neck. It glimmered when she passed through a beam of sunshine.

 

As she moved to kneel, Tywin reached for her, catching her hand gently in his. He had not spoken to her about that, and it made his heart tighten that she would willingly show her subservience to him without prompting and in front of the highest lords in the land. He took her other hand and tugged her gently to his chest, leaning his forehead against hers before leaning close to whisper in her ear.

 

“A queen lowers herself for no one in the eyes of the lords and commons, not even her king.”

 

Sansa squeezed his hands at these words, stepping a little closer to him as the septon began speaking about why they had all come together this day.

 

Pride filled him when she made herself speak a little louder so all assembled could hear the vows she made to her king. When she finished promising to love and obey and honor him, he made his vows back to her, swearing to protect and provide for her and their children, to respect her always and never dishonor her.

 

At the end, looking into each other’s eyes, they were made man and wife after declaring in the name of the seven that they belonged to the other and the other belonged to them. The septon told Tywin that he could now bring her under his protection. He removed the Lannister cloak draping his shoulders and fastened it around her as her hands grasped his tunic to steady herself.

 

When it seemed the septon was about to allow them to kiss, Tywin turned an ugly glare on him. He would kiss her when and if it pleased him, not as a show.

 

“You may escort your wife to her home.”

 

Tywin raised a hand, and Ser Barristan stepped up to them calmly. On a fine red pillow rested a gold tiara set with perfectly arranged pearls and rubies. He placed it on her head, trailing his hands down the lines of her cheeks.

 

“Beautiful.” He spoke this loud enough for all to hear, wanting her to smile.

 

She smiled, taking his hands in hers. She should smile. This was her wedding day, not her father’s execution. He wanted her to be happy, and he didn’t care if it made him a little foolish. She should always smile when she was on his arm. It made her appear more devoted if she was happy, truly happy with him.

 

“Come.”

 

`⚔` **S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔ ⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔ ⚔**` **S**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **H**` **⚔**` **E**` **⚔**` **M**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**` **I**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**` **G**` **⚔** ` ` **⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔** ` ` **⚔**` **S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔** `

 

Edric tried to keep up with Ser Jon as he rode beside the king and queen’s carriage. The cheers of the commoners for their new queen were nearly deafening as she smiled and waved with one hand and held the king’s arm with the other.

 

King Tywin mostly looked ahead, but every so often he would look to Sansa, and his expression looked slightly less severe. When they arrived at the Red Keep, he helped Sansa down dutifully.

 

Ser Jon handed him the reins of his war stallion, and he led the horse away. He tended to both horses as quickly as he could. Despite being a squire now, he would still be expected upstairs, as the Lord of Starfall.

 

His stomach fluttered nervously the moment he entered the great hall. He stared at Lord Stark where he was seated beside the new queen. It would not be possible to ask about his bastard son while he was seated so close to the king, and he had always heard that the man could be prickly where the boy was concerned. Clearly he loved and wanted to protect his son despite the circumstances of his birth. He could hardly disapprove of another lord wanting to do the same for his family.

 

Had Lord Stark loved Ashara? Did he take her son? Was that why she killed herself? A dozen more questions pounded through his head that he could not escape. He had seen how men outside Dorne treated their children born outside their marriages, and it was all horrible. It was no wonder they spoke of bastard children being treacherous. How could they not be when they were treated as anything other than children born of love? So Lord Stark had made no vows to Ashara. That did not mean that he loved her less than the woman he married. If his cousin was being abused by the Starks, he prayed to the seven that he would have the courage to tell the Warden of the North of his dishonorable behavior, and he would ask the king to make his cousin a Dayne in name.

 

Dawn did not glow unless a knight of their blood was worthy to wield her, and Dawn had lit up like the sun just before he and Ashara left Dorne. The ancestral sword was packed beneath Ashara’s dresses, and it still danced with light when they took it from its scabbard. Dawn was searching for her knight. Edric was not a knight yet, but perhaps his cousin was. If his cousin was meant for the sword, Edric would see that he had it.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa spoke softly with Tywin at her wedding feast. She was served first of everyone in the hall. Everything was so beautiful. The thousands of candles, the gifts that different lords and ladies brought up to them, the parade of singers and dancers and tumblers. She lost count of the number of times she heard the song _The Rains of Castamere_.

 

The song was a daunting warning, and it still frightened her a little. How could she fight the fear, knowing the man who destroyed the Reynes of Castamere was now her husband? Her greatest comfort was that now her name was Lannister. That meant that she was protected by him; her family was protected by him through her.

 

“This is a wedding,” Tywin met the eyes of the tenth or eleventh man playing the first strains of the song with his hard green eyes. “It’s a happy occasion.”

 

The man nodded before starting to sing _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_. When she was certain that everyone was once again mostly watching the entertainment, she reached for her new husband’s hand where it rested on his leg beneath the table while the servants placed the desserts in front of them. Crispy, golden crust pies filled with spiced apples, berries in sweet cream, the little lemoncakes that were her favorite, cherry cheese tarts, and a dozen other delicious looking sweets Sansa had never seen before.

 

When he turned slowly to blink his cat-like eyes at her, she gave him a soft smile and squeezed his hand. His hand turned gently as he looked around the room before threading his fingers through hers and moving their hands up to rest in full view on the table. His lips quirked so minutely and so briefly that Sansa was not entirely certain it had happened, but she turned away to allow him a respite from her curiosity.

 

Her heart beat a little faster at this, wanting to take flight the way Dreamsong so often did these days. Not so many days ago, Jon had climbed onto the dragon’s back. Jon was certain that the dragon would be ready to carry a rider soon.

 

She had hoped for some encouragement from him, but she had not truly expected him to show her open affection.

 

“Would you like to dance, Sansa?”

 

“I would. Thank you.”

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. F~I~R~E~A~N~D~B~L~O~O~D. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Jon watched the king lead Sansa out to dance quietly. He flexed his hand around the hilt of his sword, rubbing his thumb calmly back and forth over the pommel shaped like the head of a dragon.

 

Sansa danced beautifully, and the king looked calm and composed as he held her hand while she spun around him. She favored him with her sweet smiles, and his face looked a little softer as the evening marched on. She appeared quite content as she took hands with different lords in turn.

 

She danced with Lord Kevan, their father, Prince Oberyn, and many others. The dark Dornish prince made Jon glare. The man dishonored his wife by bringing his lover with him everywhere. He even sat the woman, Ellaria Jon had heard was her name, to his other side. Still, he was not the man who most made Jon want to draw the weapon. It was a strange, short little man from the Vale with a pointed beard and a silver bird shaped pin at his throat. Still Sansa smiled beautifully as she danced with him.

 

Her joy never faltered until she was face to face with Princess Cersei.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa felt a little winded after her tenth dance and was thinking of going to her husband’s side for a rest after she danced with all the lords of Westeros. Her wedding had been perfect so far, everything she had ever imagined it would be. It was not until she found herself face to face with her new husband’s firstborn that she felt frightened. Still Cersei smiled at her and stepped forward.

 

“It’s so warm in here. Would you care to step outside for some fresh air, Your Grace?”

 

Something about the way Cersei said ‘your grace’ made it sound like she was looking at a dog that had just rolled around on something putrid instead of her queen, and Sansa turned to her last partner, Ser Barristan of the Kingsguard.

 

“My Queen, the king wished you to come to his side immediately after this dance.”

 

“I beg your pardon, Princess Cersei.”  
  


Cersei reached out, taking her arms and pulling Sansa close into an embrace.

 

“My father is a heartless man. If you believe he’ll ever love you, you’re an idiot.” Her voice grew steadily colder and more vindictive. “If the gods love you at all, he’ll impregnate you quickly. If they don’t, and they don’t exist, he’ll fuck you bloody like the lioness you’re pretending to be for months before planting his seed.”

 

Sansa trembled, trying to withdraw shakily as a few tears slid down her cheeks. Why would she say such horrible things about her father? She made him sound like a monster in one of Old Nan’s stories. She always hated the monsters as much as she loved the heroes who killed them. She had married a man, not a monster.

 

Her husband’s predecessor had been the monster. They said his hair hung to his waist and his fingernails were like long, hooked claws. He burned men alive, believed himself a dragon. Tywin was a man, one calm and cold as a frozen lake, but hardly evil.

 

“Your kindness and graciousness are the same as ever, Niece.”

 

Sansa forced herself to raise her head and make eye-contact with Lord Kevan and Cersei. She looked past them, toward her husband where he was seated above the revelry watching her.

 

“Your Grace, please let me escort you to your husband.”

 

She took Ser Barristan’s arm.

 

“I hope that you enjoy the festivities, Princess. My husband wishes me at his side.”

 

`⚔` **S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔ ⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔ ⚔**` **S**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **H**` **⚔**` **E**` **⚔**` **M**` **⚔**` **O**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**` **I**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔**` **G**` **⚔** ` ` **⚔**` **D**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **W**` **⚔**` **N**` **⚔** ` ` **⚔**` **S**` **⚔**` **T**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **R**` **⚔**` **F**` **⚔**` **A**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔**` **L**` **⚔** `

 

Edric moved over to Ser Jon’s side as the evening progressed. He noticed Jon was keeping as close a watch as over on his lady. It was no wonder that men were beginning to talk.

 

They were always together, and they often visited the old dragon pits to see Dreamsong as he grew larger and larger. She often fed the dragon tasty bites of food after Jon finished training him for the day. Edric was always with them, and nothing ever happened except them training the dragon. Of course, many said they shared an unbreakable love. Edric would not deny their obvious affection, but he had never seen either act upon it, not more than a kiss to the cheek—no more romantic than he ever was with his aunt. Young lovers in Dorne were never so restrained in their passions, though Sansa and Jon were of the North. Mayhaps, they were simply colder there.

 

As a boy, Edric had heard a hundred stories about dragons. He had been taught how to resist the mighty beasts, dead more than a century. He knew how they could and had been killed. Those were not his favorite lessons or his favorite stories. They were not the ones he committed to his heart. If dragons should ever return to the world, he would not wish Starfall to burn again. He would not hesitate to mount their scorpions and shoot the creatures from the sky.

 

The stories he enjoyed had always been about the dragonriders and their spiritual bond with their mounts. He loved the tales of dragons stealing princesses from those who wronged them. Sometimes they used their fire to burn anyone who hurt the fair beauties. They said the princesses either sang or played harps or horns to enchant the great beasts.

 

Ser Jon had a dragon for a pet and a sigil.

 

“Ser.”

 

Jon turned to him. It would be better to distract him before the whispers became a roar.

 

“Will you be competing tomorrow?”

 

“The tourney is being held to celebrate my Lady being crowned queen. As her sworn shield, there’s little choice. She insists I defend her honor.”

 

“Jon.”

 

Edric’s breathing sped up as Lord Stark moved up beside Ser Jon. This was the man who could tell him if he had a cousin, if his cousin was alive, if he had loved Ashara, why he left her to throw herself into the Torrentine.

 

“Lord Stark, this is my squire, Edric Dayne.”

 

Edric bowed politely to the Warden of the North, biting the tip of his tongue. There were too many ears. He reminded himself as he glanced past one of the highest lords in the land at the hundreds of other guests that this could be a dangerous place to ask the wrong questions. He did not know the Lord of Winterfell, and northerners took offense to some of the strangest things. They were not like the Dornish. They did not understand that no man of Dorne ever judged the love of another. Dornish beliefs were not something that currently required discussion or defending. Allyria reminded him of that constantly, and he reminded himself of it now.

 

“My lord.”

 

Lord Stark stared at him so long that Edric could not avoid shifting under the intensity of it.

 

“I’ve met your aunt, Allyria. My daughter is very fond of her, and she seems just as fond of Sansa.”

 

Edric nodded, looking for Allyria. He spotted her taking a walk around the room arm-in-arm with the new queen.

 

“Yes, my Lord.”

 

“And you swore to protect my daughter as well, Lord Dayne.”

 

Edric straightened to his full height, conscious that he was only as tall as the other men’s shoulders, and that Lord Stark and Ser Jon were not the two tallest men in the room. Still, he was growing.

 

“I swore to serve Ser Jon faithfully. That means protecting the lady he’s sworn to serve and defend.”

 

“I’m grateful and relieved that she has two such excellent protectors. Your uncle was one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”

 

Edric looked away, remembering the story of Lord Stark returning Dawn to Starfall. The story his father told him of his uncle Arthur came back to him as he looked at the turned down corners of Lord Stark’s eyes. ‘I don’t know why, but Eddard Stark looked ashamed when he returned Dawn to us.’

 

What could Lord Stark have done to feel shame? Was it loving Ashara? Was it her suicide? Was it putting a baby in her that he then took with him? Did it have to do with killing his uncle, the Sword of the Morning? What shameful thing could be done in killing a man in honorable combat? They both had a duty, and they both had done it.

 

“I wish I could’ve known him, my Lord.”

 

Ser Jon jerked a bit, taking a step forward and placing his hand on his sword. He paused though, observing the situation before throwing himself into a fire.

 

Edric turned and tensed as he saw the new queen being confronted by Princess Cersei. Everyone in Dorne was aware of what a vicious woman she could be. No lady of noble birth would serve her.

 

Ser Barristan and Lord Kevan quickly closed in on them and rescued the queen, causing both of the northmen near him to breath a collective sigh of relief. They shot each other looks as the queen was delivered to the king’s side, and the king cradled her hand, leaning close to speak privately with her.

 

After that Lord Stark excused himself, and Edric watched him depart. He made a silent promise that he would speak with Lord Stark soon. Somehow, someway he would find the time and place to ask.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

Tywin was quiet as he escorted his new wife from the feast. There had been no protest that morning when he announced that there would be no bedding ceremony. He had neither taste, nor tolerance for other men putting their hands on his treasures. Best they know from the start that it was never going to happen. He had resolved not to think about what had happened to Joanna their wedding night. Only a king should see a queen without her dress; Sansa was queen.

 

He moved an arm around his new wife possessively and directed her into his chambers ahead of him.

 

The room was well lit by several dozen candelabras, and the bed was turned down in preparation, waiting for them to complete the night’s activities.

 

Sansa moved quietly around the room, removing the jewelry he had given her and placing it on a table. Her arms crossed her stomach as she turned to face him. The smallest part of her lower lip was tucked back between her teeth nervously. She seemed to remember herself and took control of the response quickly.

 

“Come here, Sansa.”

 

To his bride’s immense credit, she did not dawdle. She stopped in front of him within reach as he looked her over. Her beauty would make the night easier. Getting to know her over the past several months helped as well. It was all well and good to mount a beautiful woman, but it had been many years since his body stirred for nothing more than a smile, lovely breasts, and shapely arse.

 

“What has your mother told you of wedding nights and men?”

 

There was no easy way to ask the question, no way to begin gently and steer to the conversation. Again, to her credit, she did not flinch or blush at his implications, despite what Kevan told him his daughter had hissed at her like an angry serpent.

 

“She said that we would take off our clothes. I would lie on my back in my husband’s bed, and he would be on top of me. He would—put his manhood inside me, between my legs. When he finished, I might be with child. Or I might not. She said it might take many nights.”

 

Tywin listened to this quietly and kept his sigh internalized. It was a perfunctory and bland explanation, and it had been close to what he had envisioned sharing with this lovely young creature. She would share his bed until she was with child. Only then could other sleeping arrangements be discussed.

 

“I’ll be claiming my rights to you every night. You’ll come here each night. You’ll remain in my bed the entirety of that night until I’m certain you’re going to give me a prince or princess.”

 

Tywin paused to observe her reaction to these statements. He moved his hand gently up to hold the side of her neck and rubbed the length of her chin with his thumb. She tried to smile a little, but her wide eyes and slightly faster breathing revealed the falseness of the calm she was desperate to project. He rubbed her arms gently. It would be easier for both of them if she was relaxed. He had no wish to see her in pain.

 

“It’s understandable to be nervous, but you must relax. Try to enjoy yourself. Making a child isn’t meant to be unpleasant. There wouldn’t be so many screaming babes in the world if it were.”

 

“Enjoy myself?”

 

Tywin took her hands and placed them on his chest. Of course, she had not been told of the pleasures flesh could offer. He tugged her between his knees, stroking her sides thoughtfully. She peaked at him through her long lashes as her fingers traced the stitching of his garment.

 

“I have no wish to see you abused and miserable, Sansa. I have no desire to make my wife dislike our nightly activities.”

 

He stiffened as he finished the thought internally. _Nothing is more beautiful than a woman enjoying the physical love her husband gives._ She needn’t know the power she might come to have. He would not have her play games with him. He would not be made a fool.

 

Having an unhappy woman who longed to spread discontent was something Tywin would not allow in his castle. It was part of why Cersei would be returning to Dorne immediately. She was his daughter, and she would do as she was told because it was for the good of the realm. Any child he might make with his wife could be in danger as long as his daughter was here.

 

“I hope that I please you, Tywin.”

 

She would learn to please him in time. She had made great strides already. Her desire to be pleasing was pleasing in itself. He had not often had many people who cared about his happiness express it so gently and sincerely.

 

“Turn around. I’ll help you with your dress.”

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa took a deep, steadying breath before obeying her husband. He seemed to be wanting to show her kindness, as opposed to what Cersei had said, what she had not been able to truly believe. He spoke gently to her, as gently as he knew how, most likely. He had not allowed the other men to strip her down and dump her on his bed.

 

Once the idea had appealed to her, racy and exciting and fun, but that morning, it had seemed that it could be more embarrassing and frightening than enjoyable. To be naked and vulnerable while men surrounded her making lewd comments, high lords who ought to be behaving better than drunken fools who had taken a donkey and honeycomb into a brothel.

 

She straightened up as he plucked at her lacings. She was his, and he was hers. They loosened under his fingers, and he opened the back of her dress. The silky fabric slipped down her shoulders, and Sansa had to grip the skirt of the dress to prevent herself from trying to cover what her husband wanted to see. She turned her head enough to peak back at him.

 

His eyes trailed the same paths as his fingers over her flesh as it was bared to his gaze. His hands were warm as they tugged away the fabric till she was bare from her head to her hips. They were soft and careful as they mapped her sides and arms, pausing occasionally to squeeze.

 

She gasped as he pressed kisses up her backbone and slipped a hand between her legs, cupping her gently before tugging her dress from her hands.

 

Her dress rustled as it fell to her feet in a pool of white silk, and Tywin turned her to face him. Her hair tickled her skin as he pushed it back to bare her breasts completely. She fought to keep herself steady, not from fear so much as the unknown, being the object of such intense focus and deliberation as the king’s.

 

She stared over his shoulder at a tapestry of a gorgeous castle on cliffs surrounded by the sea. Her fingers pinched the underskirt to keep from covering her breasts as his hands cupped the sides of them, lifting them up and brushing a thumb across their peaks. The courage to look into his eyes came once, and they revealed a dark, warmth, something she had never seen from him before as she felt him pinch her nipples as his breathing deepened.

 

“You’re beautiful.”

 

He stroked her sides again, pulling her close so their chests were pressing together. The hooks of his tunic were cold against her chest, but when she wiggled in his arms, she felt more warmth than coldness. One hand gripped her hair to pull it back from her neck as he leaned down to kiss it. Once he was busy, kissing and licking and sucking it, he moved her hands to the hooks.

 

“Unfasten my tunic.”

 

She let out a shuddery breath at the command. She had promised to obey him, so she forced herself to begin unfastening them. His body moved toward her hands, and she brushed her chin along his shoulder as he kissed and sucked the side of her neck. His teeth nipped gently at the flesh.

 

Once it was open, he slipped it off his shoulders and tossed it over a chair. Then he was standing bare-chested in front of her. She reached out to touch the sparse golden hair before she thought too much. Her fingers dropped to his flat stomach, petting the soft skin, so warm and firm beneath her fingers. She barely noticed her underskirt and small clothes falling away before he tugged her toward the large bed.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

He stared at the mark he left on the side of her neck. He intended to mark her fair skin more before the night was out, and she had seemed to enjoy it.

 

Sansa made only a few soft whimpers as he urged her up the bed toward the pillows. Someday, she would fall back on the bed, put her heels flat on it and arch her hips up to ask him to join her. He already knew that he wanted her to be very pleased this evening. She was a sweet girl, and when she reached to touch him on her own when he was half bared, something shifted in him. He had imagined her spread on his bed a few times since meeting her, waiting for him.

 

He stripped off his trousers and placed them with his shirt. He was not as hard as he needed to be, but his body was taking interest in the lithe young body. Her breasts moved softly with her breathing, and she wiggled under his gaze.

 

She was so lovely that she made his heart race, and he had thought himself too old for these things. He turned away from her for a moment. He was not his father. He was not bedding a common whore. He had married a young woman because it took a young woman to bear children. The kingdom needed an heir, and his heir’s mother came from an eight thousand year old bloodline with connections to three kingdoms. That was the lady he put in his bed.

 

“Tywin?” Her voice was soft, sweet as a song. “Are you alright?”

 

This girl would not lead him about by a leash attached to his cock. She had not even tried, and more than one other young woman had. Except for a very small number of times, she had proven herself obedient. She thought of pleasing him before she thought of what she wanted.

 

He walked slowly to the bed where she now sat on her knees. His eyes dropped to her body again, and his cock twitched its interest as his mind supplied the image of her glorious breasts bouncing as he impaled her. Her sweet cunt would welcome him into its warm, slick embrace, and with time, he would teach her how to ride him. Then he would take her, wrapping her legs around his waist. He would take her hard and deep.

 

It was impossible to take his eyes from the lush, nubile body. Her nipples had hardened under his gaze, and they were lovely and round. He would put his mouth on them soon enough. Her hips flared out from her waist, and a patch of red curls between her thighs looked moist and inviting.

 

He took a deep breath as he felt more blood flow into his cock and leaned back against the pile of pillows before pulling the gorgeous naked woman into his lap. He helped her straddle him as she might a horse, and his hands dropped to grip both of her arse cheeks, fingers brushing down between them toward the gift she was about to give him.

 

She gasped and flushed nearly as red as her hair as she was seated atop his cock. He could feel her and himself, and she wiggled a bit, keeping her head up despite not being able to meet his eyes.

 

“Sansa.” He moved a hand to cup the side of her face. She was chaste and young. She deserved his patience and gentility. “Look your fill at your husband, and touch me as it pleases you.”

 

He considered for a brief moment placing her hand on him where he would most enjoy it and telling her it was the only one that would ever be between her thighs, breeding her pretty little body. Instead, he helped her adjust her position so she could rock her core against him.

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

Sansa gasped at the sudden press over her husband’s hips. When she tried to shift away from the warm, hard part of him that pressed against her lady’s place, her husband stilled her with his hands and his eyes.

 

“Do as you wish, but you stay there.”

 

A shuddery breath escaped her, and her back arched a little at the heat in his voice as much as the one between her legs. She moved her hands from where they had cautiously been tucked against her stomach and took Tywin’s chin, gently sliding up into his sideburns and back into the rest of his golden hair.

 

He was not an ugly man, older yes. His high cheekbones and strong jaw gave him a fine profile. His green eyes were bright as they watched her in return. Her septa said all men had something that made them handsome. All a lady need do to see it is look with her heart as much as her eyes.

 

She arched a bit under his hands as he stroked the crests of her hips again. Her eyes widened at the heated feeling that coursed through her body and centered between her legs after she pressed herself down on him. Her fingers curled as her hands dropped to his shoulders for leverage.

 

A low hum came from his throat as he dipped his head to her collarbone, gripping her hips and rocking them against him.

 

All breath left her as he rolled them over, and she found herself on her back with her husband looming above her. He rumbled softly, and she could not help wiggling as one of his hands cupped her breast. He held the side of her face with the other pressing his forehead and the length of his nose to her cheek as his thumb brushed gently over her nipple. He shushed her, kissing the side of her forehead as she wiggled against the hardness between his legs that he pressed into her core.

 

“This may hurt at first.” His voice was heavy like the cloak that he draped over her shoulders that afternoon. She had never heard any man sound like that, warm and tender and hot.

 

His lips brushed against the side of her jaw as he bent her knees up. Something brushed over the outside of her lady’s place, then a hand brushed her thigh, adjusting and straightening. She burned as her muscles contracted slightly and wetness built.

 

His lips and teeth moved gently on the side of her neck he angled her hips up, then he thrust suddenly, sheathing his manhood fully in her.

 

**H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R. H~E~A~R~M~E~R~O~A~R.**

 

When she cried out at his thrust, he paused completely buried in the warmth of her body. He tucked his arms under and around her, lifting her so their bodies were flush against each other.

 

He cooed against her neck, pressing his face closer to hers. She was breathing a little fast, and there was a soft whimper in her voice.

 

She was deliciously warm and wet. Her body had welcomed him gently into it, and it was difficult not to begin moving. He could wait for her to be more at ease with his intrusion. Her whimpering subsided to a few soft shudders, and he eased his grip.

 

He took her chin, directing it with just the tips of his fingers to turn toward him. He combed through her hair as they looked into each other’s eyes.

 

“You belong to me now.” He gave a slow, shallow thrust to punctuate the thought.

 

Her eyes widened, and she nodded her agreement. Her arms moved around his shoulders as he paused again. He gave her chin and neck a few nips, watching her carefully before giving another thrust, shallow and slow again. He was well practiced at ignoring his urges and controlling himself, and he intended to enjoy the night.

 

He kept his thrusts slow and shallow as he searched for the sweet spot. The sudden squeak mixed with his wife yanking herself hard to his chest told him that he had. Her legs wrapped up around his hips, her heels digging into his lower back. He withdrew a little farther and thrust a little faster against it.

 

She squeaked again, her eyes locking on his face as he thrust. She whined as her body began contracting around his and moved her hips to meet his thrusts.

 

“Say my name.”

 

When she responded with another excited whimper and by tightening her hold around his neck instead, he nipped her shoulder hard. Stopping himself from thrusting made his whole body ache with tension and desire, but he would have his name on her lips before she got anything else from him. He was not asking much of her.

 

She whimpered and tried to move her hips against him as she kissed his face desperately. He stilled her hips with a firm grip.

 

“Tywin, please.”

 

He dipped his head to her shoulder to hide the upward curve of his lips, and he thrust again. He would be sure that she knew he was the one giving her this feeling.

 

“Say my name.”

 

**W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G. W*I*N*T*E*R*I*S*C*O*M*I*N*G.**

 

“Tywin.” Sansa whimpered his name again, and he started moving.

 

She hid her flushed face in his neck as her lips kissed every part of him they could reach between whining his name as he continued thrusting. It was wonderful, the fullness and the closeness to him, feeling so connected.

 

“You’re mine.”

 

“Yours.” Sansa repeated to him, pressing against him as hard as she could and kissing his neck back as passionately as he was kissing hers.

 

No one said it would feel like this. Her body was so warm, and Tywin had been so gentle and so affectionate. She had not expected any of it, and it was almost like magic. He was so patient, so gentle, as if he held great affection for her.

 

She snuggled against him as more warmth and heat built between her legs and her muscles contracted faster. He dragged her legs up and around his waist and growled. She whispered his name into his ear, the way he had been demanding.

 

“Tywin.” His name came out louder as her legs gripped him more tightly than ever and her body contracted a million times around him as all the heat seemed to explode.

 

Her husband released a low growl as his body stiffened, and Sansa felt his seed emptying into her. His forehead pressed close as he gave a few final thrusts. One arm clutched her back, keeping her close. The other went back and forth between the side of her face, her thigh, and her breast to squeeze.

 

He pulled away, removing his manhood as it slowly softened. He eased down beside her panting as he rolled to his back.

 

She shifted a little and winced at the slight ache between her legs. As soon as she did, a weight pressed her back down.

 

“You’re staying here.”

 

Tywin settled atop her, breathing out heavily and allowing his head to rest above her heart. He jerked only once when she moved an arm to wrap around his shoulders. Then he sighed as she remained still. His breathing soon deepened as he slipped away to sleep.

 

Sansa took a little longer to close her eyes. When she did, she dreamed of a sweet little baby in her arms that she would present to his father.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I will make the effort to respond to every comment.


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